THE ALDINE EDITION 

OF THE BRITISH 

POETS 

r 

THE FOEMS OP HENRY HOWARD 
EARL OF SURREY 



THE 



POEMS OF HENRY HOWARD 



EARL OF SURREY 







LONDON" 

BELL AND DALDY YORK STREET 

COVENT GARDEN 



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ADVERTISEMENT. 




HE present work, although substan- 
tially a reprint of the Aldine edition 
of " The Poetical Works of the Earl 
of Surrey/' published in 1831, has been 
critically and carefully revised, and some ad- 
ditional notes appended explanatory of words now 
become obsolete. The Poems have been collated 
with the edition of the " Songs and Sonnets," 
edited by Bishop Percy and George Steevens, as 
well as by the recent reprint of the first edition of 
"Totters Miscellany," by John Payne Collier, 
Esq., whose ready kindness is acknowledged for the 
loan of the sheets of that rare work. The text of 
the two books of " Virgil's iEneid," has also been 
revised by the accurate edition of William Eolland, 
Esq. published by the Roxburgh e Club. 

In the Memoir of the Earl of Surrey, some of 
the statements of his heroic career have been cor- 
rected, and other particulars relating to him sup- 
plied, which had escaped the researches of Dr. 
Nott and his later biographers. 




CONTENTS. 

SONGS AND SONNETS. 

Page 
DESCRIPTION of the restless State of a 
Lover, with Suit to his Lady, to rue on 
his dying Heart ..... 1 
Description of Spring, wherein each 
thing renews, save only the Lover . 3 
Description of the restless State of a Lover . . 4 
Description of the fickle Affections, Pangs, and Slights 

of Love 6 

Complaint of a Lover that defied Love, and was by 
Love after the more tormented .... 9 

Complaint of a Lover rebuked . . . . .12 

Complaint of the Lover disdained . . . .12 

Description and Praise of his Love Geraldinc . ,13 
The Prailty and Hurtfulness of Beauty . . .14 
A Complaint by Night of the Lover not beloved . 1 5 
How each thing, save the Lover in Spring, re viveth to 
Pleasure . . . . . . . .15 

A Tow to love faithfully, howsoever he be rewarded 16 
Complaint that his Lady, after she knew his Love, 

kept her face always hidden from him . . .17 
Request to his Love to join Bounty with Beauty . IS 
Prisoned in Windsor, he recounteth his Pleasure there 
passed 10 



VJ11 CONTENTS. 

Page 
The Lover cornforteth himself with the Worthiness of 

his Love 21 

Complaint of the Absence of her Lover being upon the 

Sea 22 

Complaint of a dying Lover refused upon his Lady's 

unjust mistaking of his Writing . . . .24 
Complaint of the Absence of her Lover, being upon 

the Sea 28 

A Praise of his Love, wherein he reproveth them that 
compare their Ladies with his . . . .31 

To his Mistress 32 

To the Lady that scorned her Lover . . .33 

A Warning to the Lover, how he is abused by his 

Love ■■ . . . .34 

The forsaken Lover describeth and forsaketh Love . 36 
The Lover describeth his restless State . . .37 
The Lover excuseth himself of suspected Change . 39 
A careless Man scorning and describing the subtle 

Usage of Women toward their Lovers . . .41 
An Answer in the behalf of a Woman. Of an uncer- 
tain Author 43 

The constant Lover lamenteth .... 45 

A Song written by the Earl of Surrey of a Lady that 

refused to dance with him . . . . .47 
The faithful Lover declareth his Pains and his uncer- 
tain Joys, and with only Hope recomforteth some- 
what his woeful Heart 53 

The Means to attain happy Life . . . .56 
Praise of mean and constant Estate . . . .57 
Praise of certain Psalms of David. Translated by Sir 

Thomas [Wyatt] the elder 58 

Of the Death of Sir Thomas Wyatt .... 59 

Of the Same 60 

Of the Same 61 

An Epitaph on Clere, Surrey's faithful Friend and 

Follower 62 

On Sardanapalus's dishonourable Life and miserable 
Death . . 63 



CONTENTS. IX 

Page 
How no Age is content with his own Estate, and how 

the Age of Children is the happiest if they had Skill 

to understand it . . . . . .61 

Bonum est mihi quod humiliasti me . . . .06 

Exhortation to learn by others' Trouble . . .67 
The Fancy of a wearied Lover . . . .67 

A Satire against the Citizens of London . . .68 
The Lover describeth his whole state unto his Love, 
and promising her his faithful good will, assure th 
himself of hers again ...... 71 



ECCLESIASTES. 



Chapter I. 
II. 
III. 
IV. 
V. 



A PARAPHRASE OF SOME OP THE PS 

Prologue 

Psalm LXXXYIII. 

Prologue 

Psalm LXXIII. . 

LV. . 

VIII. . 



The Second Book of Virgil's .^Eneid 
The Fourth Book of Virgil's Mneid 



" My fearful hope from me is lied " 
"Your fearful hope cannot prevail " 



80 
83 
87 
91 
91 



L3IS OP DAVID. 

. 98 

. 98 

. 101 

. 102 

. 106 

. 108 



112 

147 

177 
179 




^^^M 




INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 




^LAS ! so all things now do hold their peace, 15 

Although I had a check, 33. 

As oft as I behold, and see, 37. 

Brittle beauty, that Nature made so frail, 14< 
But now the wounded Queen, with heavy care, 147. 
Divers thy death do diversely bemoan, 59. 
Each beast can choose his fere according to his mind, 47. 
From Tuscano came my Lady's worthy race, 13. 
From pensive fancies then I gan my heart revoke, 83. 
Girt in my guiltless gown, as I sit here and sow, 43. 
Give ear to my suit, Lord ! from ward hide not thy face, 106. 
Give place, ye lovers, here before, 31. 
Good ladies ! ye that have your pleasures in exile, 28. 
If care do cause men cry, why do not I complain, 53. 
If he that erst the form so lively drew, 32. 
I never saw my Lady lay apart, 17. 
In Cyprus springs, whereas dame Venus dwelt, 12 a 



In winter's just return, when Boreas gan his reign, 24. 

I, Solomon, David's son, King of Jerusalem, 80. 

Laid in my quiet bed, in study as I were, 64= 

Like to the steerless boat that swerves with every wind, 87. 

London! hast thou accused me, 68. 

Love, that liveth and reigneth in my thought, 12. 

Martial, the things that do attain, 56. 

My Ratclif, when thy rechless youth offends, 67. 



Xll INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 

My fearful hope from me is fled, 177. 

Norfolk sprung thee, Lambeth holds thee dead, 62. 

Of thy life, Thomas, this compass well mark, 57. 

happy dames that may embrace, 22. 

O loathsome place ! where I. 36. 

O Lord ! upon whose will dependeth my welfare, 98. 

Set me whereas the sun doth parch the green, 16. 

Since fortune's wrath envieth the wealth, 45. 

So cruel prison how could betide, alas, 19. 

Such wayward ways hath Love, that most part in dis- 
cord, 6. 

The sun hath twice brought forth his tender green, 1. 

Th' Assyrian king, in peace, with foul desire, 63. 

The soote season, that bud and bloom forth brings, 3. 

The golden gift that Nature did thee give, 18 

The great Macedon, that out of Persia chased, 58. 

The storms are past ; the clouds are overblown, 66. 

The fancy which that I have served long, 67. 

The Sun, when he hath spread his rays, 71. 

The sudden storms that heave me to and fro, 101. 

They whisted all, with fixed face attent, 112. 

Though I regarded not, 39. 

Though, Lord, to Israel thy graces plenteous be, 102. 

Thy name, O Lord, how great, is found before our sight, 
108. 

Too dearly had I bought my green and youthful years, 34. 

When youth had led me half the race, 4. 

When Summer took in hand the Winter to assail, 9. 

When Windsor walls sustain'd my wearied arm, 15. 

When raging love with extreme pain. 21. 

When I bethought me well, under the restless Sun, 91. 

When that repentant tears hath cleansed clear from ill, 94. 

Where rechless youth in an unquiet breast, 98. 

Wrapt in my careless cloak, as I walk to and fro, 41. 

Wyatt resteth here, that quick could never rest, 60 

Your fearful hope cannot prevail, 179. 




MEMOIR OF HENRY HOWARD, 
EARL OF SURREY. 




" I write of him whose fame for aye endures." 

Turbervile's Epitaph on Surrey, 

[ISTINGUISHED alike by his 
talents and rank, Henry Howard 
Earl of Surrey has attracted 
considerable attention; and as the 
first writer who attempted to refine 
our language, and to rescue English poetry from 
the grossness for which the productions of his 
predecessors are remarkable, he is worthy of the 
extraordinary research which his latest biogra- 
pher has displayed in collecting particulars re- 
specting his history. Dr. Nott affords a very 
creditable example of industry, and it is no slight 
praise to say that he appears to have exhausted 
every available source of information. The fol- 
lowing Memoir has, therefore, been drawn up 
almost entirely from materials collected by Dr. 
Nott; an admission which it would be disinge- 
nuous to withhold : but considerable difference 



XIV MEMOIR OF THE 

will be found with respect to the inferences 
which that writer has drawn from some of the 
facts he has brought to light ; and it is from this 
circumstance that these sheets derive their claim 
to attention. The most interesting of the letters 
which occur in the appendix to Dr. Nott's edi- 
tion are here introduced into the Memoir, and 
though the present narrative is destitute of those 
pleasing speculations which distinguish that 
biographer's Life of Surrey, the loss may, per- 
haps, be borne with, when it is remembered 
that it is as dangerous for a biographer as for an 
historian to indulge his imaginative powers. 

Although the Earl of Surrey owes but little of 
the respect which is felt for his memory to the 
adventitious splendour of his birth, it is necessary 
to speak of his genealogy with some minuteness, 
because it was from circumstances arising out 
of his pedigree that he became one of the victims 
of Henry the Eighth. 

Doubts have been expressed as to the remote 
antiquity of the family of Howard ; but it is be- 
yond dispute that they descend from Sir William 
Howard, the Chief Justice of the Common Pleas 
in the reigns of Edward the First and Second, 
whose son, Sir John, was a Knight Banneret as 
early as 1307. His great great grandson, Sir 
Robert Howard, married Margaret Mowbray, 
daughter of Thomas, Duke of Norfolk and Earl 
Marshal, whose mother was Elizabeth, daughter 
and heiress of John, Lord Segrave, the grand- 
daughter and heiress of Thomas de Brotherton, 
Earl of Norfolk, a younger son of King Edward 



EARL OF SURREY. XV 

the First. Sir John Howard, K.G., the eldest 
son of Sir Robert by the Lady Margaret Mow- 
bray, was created a Baron in 1470 ; and on the 
extinction of the Mowbrays, Dukes of Norfolk, 
about the year 1480, he became, in right of his 
mother, the eldest coheir of that house, which 
entitled him to quarter whatever arms were borne 
by them, a fact, as will afterwards appear, of 
some importance. Sir John Howard was raised 
to the dukedom of Norfolk by Richard the 
Third, who at the same time created his eldest 
son, Thomas, Earl of Surrey. These titles were 
forfeited after the battle of Bosworth, in which 
the " Jocky of Norfolk" gallantly fell in the 
cause of his sovereign and benefactor. 

Thomas Howard, his son, was restored to the 
earldom of Surrey in 1489; and in reward of 
his services at Flodden Field he was created 
Duke of Norfolk, in February, 1514. Dying in 
1524, he was succeeded by his son Thomas, third 
Duke of Norfolk, who was twice married — first 
to Anne, daughter of King Edward the Fourth, 
by whom he had no issue that survived their 
childhood, and secondly to Elizabeth Stafford, 
eldest daughter of Edward, Duke of Bucking- 
ham, by whom he was father of the Poet. His 
second marriage, which proved an unhappy one, 
took place soon after Easter in 1 512; the Duchess 
was twenty years younger than her husband, 
and was then the object of an attachment, which 
was reciprocal, to the Earl of Westmorland. 

The exact date of the birth of the Earl of 
Surrey has not been ascertained, but it may be 



XVI MEMOIR OF THE 

assigned to some time between 1516 and 1518 ; 
nor has it been determined where it occurred, 
though many circumstances render it probable 
that it took place either at Framlingham or Ten- 
dring Hall, in Suffolk. 1 

It seems probable that Surrey was educated, 
if not wholly, at least in part, by an eminent 
scholar of the name of John Clerke, who having 
passed some time on the Continent, where he 
acquired a perfect acquaintance with the French 
and the Italian languages, was afterwards re- 
ceived into the Duke of Norfolk's family, and 
lived with him in the house as his secretary, 
until the time of the Duke's attainder and im- 
prisonment. Clerke's work, "De Mortuoruin 
Resurrectione, et Extremo Judicio," 4to, 1545, 
is dedicated to Surrey, 2 and his "Treatise of 
Nobility/' 12mo, 1543, to his father, the Duke 
of Norfolk. In the latter work Clerke mentions 
with the highest commendations many transla- 
tions done by Surrey, from the Latin, Italian, 
French, and Spanish languages. But these, it 
is probable, were nothing more than juvenile 

1 In an account of the fare of Henry Howard in the nur- 
sery at Tendring Hall, there appears to be for his breakfast 
throughout the year, " a racke or chyne of mutton, and a 
eheckyn," except on Fridays and Saturdaj^s, when it is " a 
dysshe of butter-mylke and six eggs." (Catering Book of 
Thomas, Earl of Surrey, third Duke of Norfolk, for 1523, a 
MS. in the possession of Sir Thomas Phillipps.) This book 
proves that Surrey was in his youth always at home with 
the other children. 

2 A copy of this work in the British Museum has the 
following manuscript note : — " The author of this tract was 
preceptor to Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey, to whom it is 
dedicated." 



EARL OF SURREY. XVll 

exercises. It appears that Gierke practised ne- 
cromancy, which may account for Surrey's faith 
in judicial astrology. 

Bred up in the country, Surrey acquired an 
early fondness for active pursuits. As he ad- 
vanced in years the taste continued, but its direc- 
tion was changed. He excelled in the joust and 
the tournament, and the dangers of an assault 
suited his ardent temperament. On the accession 
of his father to the Dukedom in 1524, he went 
to reside at Kenninghall, and in 1526 was ap- 
pointed cupbearer to Henry the Eighth. By an 
extract from the register of Butley Priory, in 
Suffolk, it appears that on the 23rd of July, 
1529, the Duke of Norfolk paid a visit to Tho- 
mas Manning (alias Sudbury) the prior of that 
house, accompanied by the Earl of Surrey, who 
is described as having then his own proper 
attendants. The occasion of the visit was the 
sale of Staverton Park, which the prior then 
bought of the Duke. 

From a letter copied from the original among 
the papers of the Abbey of Bury, it would 
appear that the Earl, during his residence at 
Kenninghall, was in great pecuniary distress. 
It is written with more than common urgency 
to John Reeve, alias Melford, the head of a 
wealthy monastery, soon itself to be broken in 
pieces, and its treasures scattered to the winds. 

" My Lord, 
" Notwithstanding that aforetime I have bor- 
rowed of you to the sum of xxx 11 pound sterling 
b 



XVlll MEMOIR OF THE 

having not yet repaid it, yet by very need and 
extreme necessity, I am again constrained, my 
known good Lord, at this present, affectuously 
to desire you to shew yourself so much my cor- 
dial friend, as to lend some over and above xx u 
pound, in such haste as I may have it here 
to-morrow by viii of the clock, for such is my 
present need and thought [sadness]. My Lord, 
for your such kindness to be shown towards [me], 
it lieth not in my power to offer the like recom- 
pense. Yet, my Lord, ye shall so bind me to 
be your inward and affectuall friend whiles I 
live, and your money, first and last, to be 
honestly repaid to you again with hearty thanks, 
which if I were so ingrate (which God defend !) 
to deny ye, might and may it well believe, my 
Lord, my father will not so see your hearty 
kindness uncontented. And thus, my very good 
Lord, with hearty request of this my desire I 
leave you to God. Displease you not so, though 
my Lord being out of the country in this my 
necessity, I rather attempt to assay [prove] you 
his ancient friend than other farther off. From 
Kenninghall, this St. Peter's, yours assuredly 
during his life. "H.Surrey. 

" To his very good Lord and Friend, my 
Lord Abbot of Birry give these." 

Endorsed : " My Lord of Surre xx 11 , and be- 
sides that xxx 11 ." 1 

On the 13th of February, 1532, Surrey, now 
1 Addit. MS. Brit, Museum, No. 24,493, fol. 234. 



EARL OF SURREY. XIX 

in his sixteenth year, was contracted in marriage 
to Lady Frances Vere, daughter of John, the 
fifteenth Earl of Oxford. They were married 
at Pentecost of the same year, but probably did 
not live together till about the spring of 1535. 

In the month of October, 1532, when Henry 
VIII. went to France, in order to hold an in- 
terview with Francis I, he was attended by 
many of his peers, and among them the Duke 
of Richmond and the Earl of Surrey. " The 
xj. day of October Henry the Eighth, Kynge 
of England, landed at Caleis, with the Duke of 
Richmond, his bastard sonne, the Duke of Nor- 
folke, lorde tresorer of England, the Erie of Sur- 
rey," etc. 1 After the royal conference the Duke 
of Richmond, accompanied by Surrey, proceeded 
to Paris, to prosecute their studies, where they 
remained for nearly twelve months. " In 1533, 
the xxv. of September, the Duke of Richmond, 
bastard sonne of King Henry the Eighth, and 
the Erie of Surrey, came to Caleys owt of 
Fraunce, where they had been almoste xij 
monthes."* 2 During their residence at the 
French court, it appears they returned to Eng- 
land for a few weeks, for it is stated that the 
Earl of Surrey carried the fourth sword at the 
coronation of Queen Anne Boleyn in June, 
1533. On May 17, 1534, the Duke of Rich- 
mond is recorded to have been the sovereign's 
lieutenant at the feast of the Order of the Garter 
kept at Windsor. 

1 The Chronicle of Calais, p. 41, 1846, printed for the 
Camden Society. 2 Ibid. p. 164, 



XX - MEMOIR OF THE 

After the coronation the young Queen used 
her influence in promoting the marriage of the 
Duke of Richmond with Lady Mary Howard, 
Surrey's only sister ; and the King, with whom 
the Howards were then in high favour, cordially 
assented to the match. As the parties were re- 
lated within the forbidden degrees of consanguin- 
ity, a dispensation was indispensable. The young 
Duke was placed at Windsor, whilst his bride 
continued to live with her father. It was at 
this time that Surrey again became the com- 
panion of " a king's son," as he describes him- 
self in that beautiful poem which he wrote some 
years after, during a temporary confinement in 
Windsor Castle. Speaking of this period of his 
life, he says : — 

" Proud Windsor, where T, in lust and joy, 
With a King's son, my childish years did pass, 
In greater feast than Priam's sons of Troy. 
Where each sweet place returns a taste full sour, 
The large green courts, where we were wont to hove, 
With eyes cast up into the Maiden's tower, 
And easy sighs, such as folk draw in love. 
The stately seats, the ladies bright of hue. 
The dances short, long tales of great delight; 
With words and looks that tigers could but rue ; 
Where each of us did plead the other's right." ! 

On the 10th of March, 1536, Surrey's eldest 
son Thomas was born, and his nativity, calcu- 
lated by the Earl's direction, still exists; and, 
which is somewhat singular, foretold some un- 
defined misfortune to the father. On the 18th 
of October following, lie received the honour of 
1 Seep. 19. 



EARL OF SURREY. « XXI 

knighthood, and soon afterwards took a con- 
spicuous part in public affairs. At the trial of 
his kinswoman, the unfortunate Anne Boleyn, 
he was present as the representative of the Earl 
Marshal, his father having presided by virtue 
of his office of Lord Treasurer. Within a few 
months of her execution the tyrannical disposi- 
tion of Henry the Eighth was manifested towards 
Surrey's uncle, Lord Thomas Howard, who was 
committed to the Tower for having married the 
Lady Margaret Douglas without the King's 
permission. After being confined for two years 
he died of a broken heart, an event which made 
a deep impression upon the poet, who adverts to 
it in one of his poems. 1 

But he experienced a heavier calamity on the 
22nd of July of the same year by the death of 
his friend and brother-in-law, the Duke of Rich- 
mond, of whom he speaks, with the greatest 
affection in a poem written some time after his 
decease. 2 

It is here necessary to advert to Surrey's 
supposititious passion for the fair Geraldinej his 
affection for whom takes rank in the chronicles 
of love with those of Abelard and Heloise ? of 
Petrarch and Laura, of Tasso and Leonora. 
This circumstance has imparted a romantic in- 
terest to his life ; but his love for Geraldine can 
only be regarded as a poetical exaggeration — an 
affection of the imagination — the day-dream of 
an ardent fancy. 

Many of his biographers have considered that 
1 See p. 50. 2 See p. 20. 



XXll - MEMOIR OF THE 

the lady thus designated was the object of a real 
attachment, and so strongly was Dr. Nott im- 
pressed with this opinion, that he has ventured 
to place an address to Geraldine as the title of 
nearly all the Earl's sonnets, not only without 
any authority, but in contradiction to the first 
and every other edition of his works. This 
gratuitous assumption has led that writer into 
serious errors, and has deemed many lines in 
various poems to be illustrative of the history 
of Surrey's passion for Geraldine, which evi- 
dently refer to a different person. 

One poem, and one poem only, can, upon 
anything like evidence, be supposed to have 
been addressed to the lady mentioned by the 
name of Geraldine : — 

" From Tuscane came my Lady's worthy race." } 

It was not till the year 1750 that any attempt 
was made to identify this celebrated woman ; 
that is, to name a lady of the family of Fitz- 
gerald in whom met all the circumstances which 
surrounded the Earl of Surrey's Geraldine. In 
that year poor Collins published " A Supplement 
to the Four Volumes of the Peerage of Eng- 
land," containing an account of the Fitzgerald 
family. There, in speaking of the issue of 
Gerald, the ninth Earl of Kildare, he states that 
he married first a daughter of Lord Zouch of 
Codnor, by whom he had a numerous issue, 
which lady died on October 6, 1517 ; and in 
1519 he married, secondly, Lady Margaret Gray, 
1 See p. 13. 



EARL OF SURREY. XXlli 

fourth daughter of Thomas, Marquis of Dorset, 
by whom he had two sons and three daughters. 
He then states, without any reserve, that Lady 
Elizabeth, the second of these three daughters, 
was the lady who was the Geraldine of the Earl 
of Surrey. 

A few years after, the attention of Horace 
Walpole was directed to this question, and he 
came, by his own independent consideration, to 
the same conclusion at which Collins had ar- 
rived, and which he announced, in 1758, in his 
" Catalogue of Royal and Noble Authors." He 
gives a kind of proof by comparison of what 
Surrey has told us, with what is known of Lady 
Elizabeth Fitzgerald, namely the Tuscan descent 
of Geraldine, the Irish Earl, the mother of royal 
extraction, her being first seen at Hunsdon, 
which was a nursery of the princesses Mary and 
Elizabeth, with whom it is probable she was 
brought up; that he fell in love with her at 
Hampton, and was separated from her by his 
residence at Windsor. 

( If we are to suppose that Surrey's passion is 
to be taken as a reality, and not merely a poet's 
fiction, we shall find the subject perplexed with 
difficulties. The Lady Elizabeth was a mere 
child, not more than twelve years old. Surrey 
was then married, and, for aught that appears to 
the contrary, was living happily with his wife, 
whose birth was equal to his own. It betrays 
too little sagacity to suppose that a young mar- 
ried nobleman would have publicly avowed a 
passion for the daughter of a powerful earl, con- 



XXIV MEMOIR OF THE 

nected with the highest families in the realm, 
and who was then living under the especial pro- 
tection of her cousin the Princess Mary. 

It is remarkable, that, whilst so extravagant 
a deduction has been drawn from one solitary 
sonnet, no notice has been hitherto taken of a 
poem, " The Complaint of the absence of her 
Lover, being upon the Sea," which bears striking 
marks of being dictated by the affection which 
subsisted between him and his Countess. 1 

Connected with the story of Surrey's vaunted 
affection for Gerald ine is that absurd fable of 
his travels in Italy, to proclaim, in the true 
spirit of chivalry, the unparalleled charms of his 
mistress, and to defend the cause of her beauty 
with the weapons of knight errantry. The whole 
legend first appeared in a work entitled, u The 
Unfortunate Traveller, or Life of Jack Wilton," 
written by the notable Thomas Nash, and pub- 
lished in 1594. It has since been credited and 
endorsed by Drayton, Winstanley, Anthony a 
Wood, Gibber, Walpole, and Warton ; but 
finally exploded by Dr. Nott, who has demon- 
strated that this famed tournament is a fiction, 
and that Surrey was never in Italy. 

On the 12th of November, 1537, Surrey at- 
tended, as one of the principal mourners, the 
funeral procession of Queen Anne Seymour 
from Hampton to Windsor, for interment in 
St. George's Chapel. He was also present at 
court on the following New Year's Day, and 
presented the king with three gilt bowls and a 

1 See pp. 28-31. 



EAEL OF SURREY. XXV 

cover. It was early in the year 1539, when the 
negociations were commencing for the matri- 
monial treaty between Henry VI 1 1, and Anne 
of Cleves, that the following amusing colloquy 
took place between George Constantyne and 
John Barlow, Dean of Westbury, respecting 
the gallant Surrey, now in the twenty-second 
year of his age. 

" George. If there should be any pledges 
sent into Cleves, in good faith I would the Earl 
of Surrey should be one of them. 

u Dean. It is the most foolish proud boy 
that is in England. 

" George. What, man, he hath a wife and a 
child, and ye call him boy ? 

u Dean. By God's mercy methink he ex- 
ceedeth. 

" George. What then? he is wise for all 
that, as I hear. And as for pride, experience will 
correct well enough. No marvel though a young 
man, so noble a man's son and heir apparent be 
proud, for we be too proud ourselves without 
those qualities. But I would wish that lie 
should be one to be sent thither, for that he 
should there be fully instructed in God's word 
and of experience. For if the Duke of Norfolk 
were as fully persuaded in it as he is in the con- 
trary, he should do much good, for he is an 
earnest man, a bold man and witty, in all his 
matters. 

" Dean. It is true, and ye say well in that." l 

In the spring of 1539 Surrey's second son, 
1 Archcsologia, vol. xxiii. p. 62. 



XXVI MEMOIR OF THE 

Henry, afterwards created Earl of Northampton, 
was born, and it is clear that our poet at this 
time maintained the state and dignity of a noble- 
man in everything. Hence we find him on the 
1st of May, 1540, with the knightly gallants 
of the court, distinguishing himself at the jousts 
and tournaments held at Durham House in 
honour of the king's marriage with Anne of 
Cleves, " where lie behaved himself with admi- 
rable courage, and great skill in the use of his 
arms." 1 Towards the close of that year Surrey 
accompanied the forces which were sent to put 
Guisnes into a state of defence, in case of a 
rupture with France, when he commenced his 
military career ; his stay there was, however, 
very short. 

Early in 1541, Sir Edmund Knevett struck 
the Earl's friend and attendant, Thomas Clere, 
within the precincts of the court. For this 
offence the usual punishment of the loss of the 
right hand was pronounced; but at Surrey's 
intercession, according to Dr. Nott, Knevett 
was pardoned, Hollingshed, however, says 
that Knevett obtained the king's grace himself, 
by begging that his left hand might be taken, 
and his right spared to render future service to 
his majesty. In September of the same year, 
Surrey and his father were appointed Stewards 
of the University of Cambridge. 

On February 12th, 1542, the second of the 
five queens of Henry the Eighth, Catherine 
Howard, was sent to the block in the Tower; 

1 Dngd ale's Baronage, ii. 275. 



EARL OF SURREY. xxvil 

but as a proof that the king still cherished some 
regard for the queen's family, on St. George's 
day of the same year Surrey received one of the 
highest favours which his sovereign could con- 
fer, by being elected a Knight of the Garter. 

Peculiarly susceptible of affront or injury, 
Surrey never hesitated a moment in resenting 
whatever appeared to affect his honour. A few 
months afterwards w r e find him again involved 
in a quarrel with a gentleman of the name of 
John a Leigh, whom he challenged, and the 
dispute has, without a shadow of proof, been 
attributed by Dr. Nott to Leigh's being his rival 
in Geraldine's affections ! Be the cause, how- 
ever, what it might, Surrey was evidently in 
fault, for he was sent a prisoner to the Fleet, 
being allowed two servants to attend upon him, 
but not permitted to entertain any friends at his 
table. The following letter was written during 
his confinement, and is of much interest. It was 
addressed to the Privy Council, and entreated 
them to obtain his liberation, or at least to inter- 
cede that he might be removed to a less noi- 
some prison : — - 

" My very good Lords, 
" After my humble commendations to your 
Lordships; these presents shall be to advertise 
you, that albeit I have of late severally required 
each of you, by my servant Pickering, of your 
favour ; from whom as yet I have received no 
other comfort than my passed folly hath de- 
served ) I have yet thought it my duty again, as 



XXV111 MEMOIR OF THE 

well to renew my suit, as humbly to require you 
rather to impute this error to the fury of reckless 
youth, than to a will not conformable and con- 
tented, with the quiet learning of the just reward 
of my folly ; for as much as I so suddenly and 
quickly did procure and attempt to seek for 
friendship, and entreat for my deliverence : as 
then not sufficiently pondering nor debating with 
myself, that a prince offended hath none redress 
upon his subject but condign punishment, with- 
out respect of person. Yet, let my youth un- 
practised in durance obtain pardon : (although 
for lack of strength it yield not itself wholly to 
his gentle chastisement,) whilst the heart is re- 
solved in patience to pass over the same, in satis- 
faction of mine errors. 

u And, my Lords, if it were lawful to persuade 
by the precedent of other young men reconciled, 
I would affirm that this might sound to me a 
happy fault: by so gentle a warning to learn 
how to bridle my heady will : which in youth is 
rarely attained without adversity. Where, might 
I without vaunt lay before you the quiet con- 
versation of my passed life; which (unstained 
with any unhonest touch, unseeming in such a 
man as it hath pleased God and the King to 
make me,) might perfectly promise new amend- 
ment of mine offence. Whereof, if you doubt 
in any point, I shall humbly desire you, that 
during mine affliction, (in which time malice is 
most ready to slander the innocent) there may 
be made an whole examination of my life : 
wishing, for the better trial thereof, to have the 



EARL OF SURREY. XXIX 

time of my durance redoubled; and so (declared 
as well tried, and unsuspected) by your media- 
tions to be restored to the King's favour; than, 
condemned in your grave heads, without answer 
or further examination to be quickly delivered : 
this heinous offence always unexcused, where- 
upon I was committed to this noisome prison ; 
whose pestilent airs are not unlike to bring some 
alteration of health. 

" Wherefore, if your good Lordships judge 
me not a member rather to be clean cut away, 
than reformed ; it may please you to be suitors 
to the King's Majesty on my behalf; as w r ell 
for his favour, as for my liberty: or else, at the 
least, if his pleasure be to punish this oversight 
with the forbearing his presence, (which unto 
every loving subject, specially unto me, from a 
Prince cannot be less counted than a living 
death,) yet it would please him to command me 
into the country, to some place of open air, with 
like restraint of liberty, there to abide his Grace's 
pleasure. 

" Finally, albeit no part of this my trespass in 
any way to do me good, I should judge me 
happy if it should please the King's Majesty to 
think, that this simple body rashly adventured 
in the revenge of his own quarrel, shall be with- 
out respect always ready to be employed in his 
service ; trusting once so to redouble this error, 
which may be well repeated but not revoked. 
Desiring your good Lordships that like as my 
offence hath not been, my submission may like- 
wise appear: which is all the recompense that I 



XXX MEMOIR OF THE 

may well think my doings answer not. Your 
grave heads should yet consider, that neither am 
I the first young man that hath enterprised such 
things as he hath afterward repented." 

He continued a prisoner until the 7th of Au- 
gust, when he was released upon his recognizance 
in ten thousand marks not to offer any further 
offence, by w r ord or deed, to Leigh or to any of 
his friends. War being soon afterwards de- 
clared against Scotland, Lord Surrey accom- 
panied the expedition into that kingdom under 
his father, the Duke of Norfolk, but it is not 
known what rank he bore in the army. It is 
evident, from his epitaj)h on his friend Clere, 
that he was present at the burning of Kelsal, 
but on breaking up the English forces soon 
afterwards, the Earl returned to London. 

An affair occurred early in the year 1543 
which is remarkable for two reasons, the one as 
proving the impetuosity of Surrey's temper; 
the other that he was at this time encouraging 
perilous expectations respecting the anticipated 
regency, as the health of the king was rapidly 
declining. A party of gentlemen, of whom 
Surrey was one, amused the long hours of a 
winter night by a riot in London. They pa- 
raded the streets with stone bows, they broke 
the windows of houses and churches, shot pellets 
among the queans upon the Bankside, and then 
disappeared among the unlighted alleys of the 
city. In the morning they were traced to the 
house of a Master Arundel in Laurence Lane. 



EARL OF SURREY. xxxi 

The rank of the offenders led to an inquiry by 
the Privy Council, and the examination of the 
witnesses, especially of Mrs. Arundel's servants, 
showed that Surrey allowed himself to be re- 
garded by his friends as more than the hero of a 
midnight disturbance. 1 

On the 1st of April, 1543, the Earl was sum- 
moned before the Privy Council, and charged 
with two offences: having eaten flesh in Lent, 
and having w r alked about the streets of the city 
at night in a " lewd and unseemly manner," and 
breaking several windows with a stone bow. To 
the first charge he replied, that he had a license; 
but to the latter he pleaded guilty, and submitted 
himself to such punishment as might be thought 
proper, whereupon he was again sent to the 



1 Froude's History of England, iv. 252, where is also 
printed from the MS. State Paper Office, Domestic, vol. xiv. 
the following examination of Mistress Arundel. She said, 
" that the Earl of Surrey and other young noblemen fre- 
quented her house, eating meat in Lent, and committing 
other improprieties. Further, she saith, how at Candlemas 
they went out with stone bows at nine o'clock at night, and 
did not come back till past midnight, and the next day there 
was a great clamour of the breaking of many glass windows 
both of houses and churches, and shooting at men that night 
in the street ; and the voice was that those hurts were done 
by my Lord and his company. Whereupon she gave com- 
mandment unto all her house that they should say nothing 
of my Lord's going out in form specified. Item, she said, 
that that night, or the night before, they used the same 
stone bows, rowing on the Thames ; and Thomas Cleer told 
her how they shot at the queans on the Bankside. Mistress 
Arundel also, looking one day at Lord Surrey's arms, said 
the arms were very like the King's arms; and said further, 
she thought he would be King, if aught but good happened 
to the King and Prince." 



xxxn MEMOIR OF THE 

Fleet. 1 Daring his confinement Surrey grati- 
fied his spleen against the citizens, whose com- 
plaint produced his imprisonment, by giving an 
account of the transaction in the poem entitled, 
"A Satire against the Citizens of London/'" in 
which he wittily says that his conduct was in- 
tended as a punishment for their crimes. His 
companions in the outrage, Pickering and the 
young Wyatt, were also both sent to prison : the 
former to the Porter's Lodge, and the latter to 
the Counter. 

Surrey's imprisonment was of short duration, 
for in October following his father sent him to 
Sir John Wallop, the commander of the army 
with which Henry had assisted the Emperor. 
He joined the allied camp before Landrecy, near 
Boulogne, being attended by his faithful ser- 
vants Clere and Blage. Wallop thus announced 
his arrival to the king : — 

" Yesterday Blage, who arrived here with my 
Lord of Surrey, went with Mr. Carew to see the 
trench, and escaped very hardly from a piece of 
ordnance that was shot towards him. My said 
Lord I brought about a great part of the town 
to view the same ; and in his return was some- 
what saluted. Their powder and shot they do 
bestow amongst us plentifully, and sometime doth 
hurt. My said Lord's coming unto this camp 
was very agreeable unto the Duke, and great 
Master, declaring a great amity and friendship 
that your Majesty beareth to the Emperor. I 

1 Privy Council Book of the Reign of Henry VIII. 

2 See page 63. 



EARL OF SURREY. xxxm 

was very glad that my said Lord intended to 
go unto Fernando's camp, informing him, as 
they offered him sufficient conduct, and the 
great Master himself to bring him half way 
there." 

In various letters from Sir John Wallop, 
Surrey's assiduity and skill in acquiring military 
knowledge are mentioned in terms of the highest 
panegyric. The siege was raised early in No- 
vember, and, the army having gone into winter 
quarters, the Earl returned to England. It is 
supposed that he employed himself for some time 
afterwards in constructing his beautiful seat of 
Mount Surrey, at St. Leonard's, near Norwich, 
on the site of an ancient cell of Benedictine 
friars. 

It was about the time when Surrey was en- 
gaged in finishing his magnificent building that 
he received into his family the celebrated Ha- 
drian Junius as a physician, assigning him 
apartments at Kenninghall, with a yearly salary 
of fifty angels. Near this time, too, the poet 
Churchyard seems to have entered the Earl's 
service, as one of his pages, where, under the 
protection of such an accomplished master, he 
could both cultivate his music and his muse. 
In the following verses he paints Surrey's talents 
and virtues in glowing colours, rejoicing that he 
was for four years one of his retainers : — 

" A master of no mean estate, a mirror in those days, 
His happy fortune then him gat, whose virtues must I praise. 
More heavenly were those gifts he had than earthly was his 
form, 

C 



xxxiv MEMOIR OF THE 

His corpse too worthy for the grave, his flesh no meat for 

worm. 
An Earl of birth ; a God of sprite, a Tully for his tongue ; 
Methink of right the world should shake when half his praise 

were rung. 
Oh ! cursed were those crooked crafts, that his own country 

wrought 
To chop off such a chosen head as our time ne'er forth brought. 
His knowledge crept beyond the stars and wrought to Jove's 

high throne, 
The bowels of the earth he saw, in his deep breast y-known. 
His wit looked through each man's device, his judgment 

grounded was, 
Almost he had foresight to know ere things should come to 

pass; 
When they should fall j what should betide, Oh ! what a 

loss of weight 
Was it to lose so ripe a head, that reached to such height ! 
In every heart he feeling had : with pen past Petrarch sure, 
A fashion framed which could his foes to friendship oft allure, 
His virtues could not keep him here, but rather wrought his 

harms, 
And made his enemies murmur oft, and brought them in by 

swarms. 
Whose practice put him to his plunge, and lost his life thereby, 
Oh ! canker'd breasts which have such hearts wherein such 

hate doth lie. 
As I have told this young man served this master twice two 

year, 
And learned therein such fruitful skill, as long he held full 

dear. 
And used the pen as he was taught and other gifts also, 
Which made him hold the cap on head, where some do crouch 

full low." 

About July, 1544, Henry again invaded 
France with a large army, the vanguard of 
which was commanded by the Duke of Norfolk, 
and Surrey w 7 as appointed Marshal, an office of 
considerable importance, and requiring capacity 
and courage. The van and rearguard having 
joined the Emperor's forces, they laid siege to 



EARL OF SURREY. XXXV 

Montreuil, and on the 26th of July, Heniy in- 
vested Boulogne in person. As that town was 
the principal object of the King's attention all 
the resources were bestowed upon the besiegers, 
and his troops before Montreuil were allowed to 
want ammunition and pay. Norfolk's exertions 
did not, however, relax ; and, aided by his son, 
he succeeded in distressing the garrison by fa- 
mine. Surrey more than once distinguished 
himself during the siege, and his services are 
thus mentioned in one of his father's dispatches : — 
" With hearty recommendations this shall be 
to advertise your good Lordships that this even- 
ing Monsieur de Bewers with his band, and 
my son of Surrey, my Lord of Sussex, my Lord 
Mountjoy, my brother William, my Lord Lati- 
mer, Mr. Treasurer, and all the rest of the no- 
blemen whom I sent further upon Saturday at 
ten at night, returned hither to this camp this 
night at seven o'clock, without loss of any man 
slain, and have made a very honest journey, and 
have burnt the towns of St. Riquier and Riew, 
both walled towns, and also the fauxbourg of 
Abbeville, on this side of the town, where the 
English horsemen had a right hot skirmish, and 
after the coming of the whole army retired with- 
out loss, and burned all the country ; and they 
of Crotey fearing our men would have laid siege 
of the castle, burned their own town. Our men 
have brought a very great booty of all sorts of 
cattle; the noblemen and gentlemen kept their 
footmen in such order, that they borrowed no- 
thing of the Burgonians, and finally have made 



xxxvi MEMOIR OF THE 

such an excourse, that the like hath not been 
made since these wars began." 

In an attempt to storm Montreuil on the 19ll. 
of September, the Earl was either wounded or 
much exhausted, and he owed his life to the 
fidelity of Clere, who in bringing him off re- 
ceived a hurt which eventually caused his death. 
This affecting incident Surrey has himself com- 
memorated in his epitaph on Clere : — 

" Tracing whose steps thou sawest Kelsal blaze, 
Landrecy burnt, and batter'd Boulogne render. 
At Montreuil gates, hopeless of all recure, 
Thine Earl, half dead, gave in thy hand his will ; 
Which cause did thee this pining death procure." ' 

On the 25th of September a reinforcement 
was sent to the Duke of Norfolk, but it arrived 
too late : the siege of Montreuil was raised, and 
the English army retired to Boulogne on the 
30th of that month. Norfolk reached England 
about the middle of December, and as nothing 
further is recorded of Surrey until Christmas 
Day, when he attended a Chapter of the Garter 
at Hampton Court, it may be inferred that he 
came back with his father. According to Mon- 
sieur Du Bellay, Surrey was again at Boulogne 
soon afterwards, but this statement is doubtful, 
and it is certain that he was present at a Chapter 
of the Garter on St. George's Day in 1545. 

In July following he was at Kenninghall, in 
Norfolk, where he received a letter from the 
Privy Council respecting some men that were 
raised for the expedition for the defence of Bou- 

1 See p. 62. 



EARL OF SURREY. XXXVll 

Wne, which was then menaced by the French. 
The Earl was appointed commander of the van- 
guard, consisting of five thousand soldiers, with 
which he arrived at Calais in August, where he 
was joined by three thousand. On the 26th of 
that month he was constituted Commander of 
Guisnes; but within a short time he w r as re- 
moved, at his own request, to Boulogne. The 
post of Commander of Boulogne required energy, 
courage, and skill, and there is ample evidence 
that the Earl displayed each of those qualifica- 
tions. Many of his despatches describing the 
state of affairs at different times are extant, but 
they contain little of general interest. A letter 
from his father to him, written in September, 
justifies the inference that his representations to 
the King, urging him to retain Boulogne, were 
not agreeable to- the Privy Council: — 

" TO MY SON OF SURREY. 

u \y ITH this ye shall receive your letter sent to 
me by this bearer; by the which I perceive ye 
find yourself grieved for that I declared to the 
Kin or such things as Cavendish shewed to me : 
which I did by his desire ; shewing the same of 
his behalf without speaking of you. And if he 
will say he desired not me to shew the King 
thereof, ye may [say] he sayeth untruly. For 
the King hawking for a pheasant, he desired me 
as he went homeward to declare the same to his 
Highness. This is true, and he taken here not 
of the best sort. Ye may be sure I do not use 
my doings of any sort that may turn you to any 



xxxvni MEMOIR OF THE 

displeasure. Have yourself in await, that ye 
animate not the King too much for the keeping 
of Boulogne ; for who so doth, at length shall 
get small thanks. I have so handled the matter, 
that if any adventure be given to win the new 
fortress at Boulogne, ye shall have the charge 
thereof; and therefore, look well what answer 
ye make to the letter from us of the Council. 
Confirm not the enterprises contained in them. 

" Having written the premises, Mr. Paget 
desired me to write to you in no wise to ani- 
mate the King to keep Boulogne. Upon what 
grounds he spake it I know not ; but I fear ye 
wrote something too much therein to somebody. 
And thus with God's blessing and mine, Fare 
ye well. From Windsor, the 27th of September 
at night. 

" Your loving father, 

" T. Norfolk." 

In a postscript to an unimportant letter to 
Lord Cobham, dated at Boulogne on the 20th 
of October, 1545, Surrey says, — 

" Whereas, I perceive Sir Edward Wotton's 
son fantaseth a genet gelding of mine, that 
standeth at Calais, which is blind and winded, 
I am ashamed to give him ; but if it please him 
to take him till I be able to give him a better, 
I shall desire him so to do." 

A communication addressed to Sir William 
Paget, on the 20th of the following month, will 
be inserted, as it shews the zeal with w r hich the 
Earl advocated the interests of his friends : — 



EARL OF SURREY. xxxix 

u It may like you, gentle Mr. Secretary, to 
give me leave, amid your weighty affairs, to 
trouble you with an earnest suit. Whereas 
Mr. Treasurer of Guisnes is discharged, and 
some other, as I hear, appointed to his place^ 
it will please you to inform yourself by the 
report of such as knoweth, [of] a gentleman, 
sometime my servant, and now a captain within 
this town, called T. Shelley, what his conditions 
and qualities are, and disposition to service, and 
then to square within yourself whether it be 
meet to recommend for that office such one, at 
the most effectual request of your poor friend, of 
whose rare virtues I could write more at large, 
but that I know virtue for the self, is to you 
sufficiently recommended ; and that Mr. Palmer 
awaiteth upon you, who can sufficiently of the 
ability of the man instruct you. Assuring you, 
Sir, that I dare promise more of that man, his 
truth and honesty, than of any man that I know 
alive ; and I should think myself happy to have 
bred such a servant, as I trust his Majesty should 
find him. And for your favour to be granted 
that man, I shall most heartily beseech you, and 
think the pleasure done as to myself, praying 
you to pardon my earnest writing: for the 
worthiness of the man bears it. And thus 
leaving to trouble you, I pray to God to send 
you health. From Boulogne, the 20th of No- 
vember. 

" Your own most assuredly, 

" H. Surrey/' 



xl MEMOIR OF THE 

Surrey having received intimation early in 
January, 1545-6, that the French were about 
to advance from Montreuil to re-victual the 
fortress, he marched from Boulogne with great 
part of the garrison to intercept them near St. 
Etienne. Though he was inferior in numbers, 
he gallantly attacked the French troops; but, 
in consequence of the cowardice of one division 
of his forces, who fled in confusion, notwith- 
standing all the Earl's efforts to rally them, the 
English were defeated, and forced to retreat to 
Boulogne. 

Surrey's despatch to the King, giving an 
account of this affair, is as follows : — 

" It may like your most excellent Majesty ; 
that having certain espial that Monsieur 13 u 
Biez was set fort [forth] of Montreuil with six 
hundred horse, and three thousand footmen, to 
relieve the great necessity of the fortress, men- 
tioned in our former letters ; we took yesterday 
before day the trenches at St. Etienne, with six 
hundred footmen, and sent out Mr. Ellerkar 
with all the horsemen of this town, and Mr. 
Pollard with two hundred, that he brought the 
night before from Guisnes, to discover whither 
their camp marched, which he had discovered 
by their fires at Nouclier over night, six miles 
on this side Montreuil. And as they passed by 
Hardelot, Mr. Pollard was hurt with a culverin 
in the knee, and died thereof the night following; 
of whom your Majesty had a notable loss. 

" Our horsemen discovered their march beyond 
Hardelot, whereupon I, the Earl of Surrey, being 



EARL OF SURREY. xli 

advertised, according to the order agreed upon 
amongst us, issued out with Mr. Bridges, Sir 
Henry Palmer, Sir Thomas Palmer, Sir Thomas 
Wyatt, and two thousand footmen ; leaving within 
your Majesty's pieces two thousand footmen, and 
the rest of the council here, divided in the pieces. 
And by that time that we had set our horsemen 
and footmen in order of battle, without the trench 
of St. Etienne, the enemy was also in order of 
battle on this side Hardelot, and had put on 
their carriages by the sea's side, towards the for- 
tress. Whereupon, having discovered their horse- 
men not above five hundred, and footmen about 
four thousand, pondering the weight of the ser- 
vice, which might have imported no less success 
than the winning of the fortress ; and the courage 
and good will that seemed in our men (the surety 
of your Majesty's pieces being provided for) upon 
a consultation we presented them the fight with 
a squadre of pikes and bills, about threescore in 
file, and two wings of harquebussiers, and one 
of bows ; and our horsemen on the right wing. 
Many of the captains and gentlemen were in the 
first rank by their desire ; for because they were 
well armed in corselets. The battle of the Al- 
mains came towards us likewise with two wings 
of harquebussiers and two troops of horsemen. 
" Mr. Marshall, Mr. Bellingham, Mr. Porter, 
Mr. Shelley, and Mr. Granado, with all the 
horsemen of this town, and Guisnes, gave the 
charge upon their right flank, and brake their 
harquebussiers. Their horsemen fled and ours 
followed the victory, and killed and slew till they 



xlii MEMOIR OF THE 

came to the carnages, where they brake four 
score and ten, accompted by tale this morning. 
Our squadre then joined with the Almains, with 
a cry of as great courage, and in as good order 
as we could wish. And by that time our first 
rank and the second were come to the push of 
the pike, there grew a disorder in our men, and 
without cause fled ; at which time many of our 
gentlemen were slain, which gave as hardy an 
onset as hath been seen, and could but have 
had good success, if they had been followed. 
So, stinted they never for any devise that we 
could use, till they came to the trenches : and 
being well settled there, which is such a place as 
may be kept against all their camp, they forsook 
that and took the river, which gave the enemy 
courage to follow them : albeit the night drawing 
then on, they followed not far beyond. Assuring 
your Majesty that the fury of their flight was such, 
that it booted little the travail that was taken 
upon every strait to stay them. And so seeing 
it not possible to stop them, we suffered them to 
retire to the town. In this meanwhile, our horse- 
men thinking all won, finding the disorder, were 
fain to pass over at a passage a mile beneath 
Pont de Brique, without any loss, having slain 
a great number of the enemies; whereof we have 
yet no certain advertisement. 

" Thus was there loss and victory on both 
sides. And this morning we sent over afore day 
to number the dead. There was slain of our 
side two hundred and five; whereof captains 
Mr. Edward Poynings, Captain Story, Captain 
Jones, Spencer, Roberts, Basford, Wourth, 



EARL OF SURREY. xliii 

Wynchcombe, Mr. Yawse, and a man at arms 
called Harvy. Captain Crayford and Mr. John 
Palmer, and Captain Shelley, and Captain Cob- 
ham, missed, but not found. All these were slain 
in the first rank. Other there were that escaped. 
Among whom Mr. Wyatt was one; assuring 
your Majesty that there were never gentlemen 
served more hardily, if it had chanced, and saving 
the disorder of our footmen that fled without 
cause, when all things almost seemed won. The 
enemy took, more loss than we, but for the gen- 
tlemen ; whose loss was much to be lamented. 
And this day we have kept the field from the 
break of day ; and the enemy retired to Montreuil 
immediately after the fight, and left their car- 
riages distressed behind them. And not twenty 
carts entered into the fortress; and that biscuit. 
u Beseeching your Majesty, though the success 
hath not been such as we wished, to accept the 
good intent of us all ; considering that it seemed 
to us, in a matter of such importance, a necessary 
thing to present the fight. And that Mr. Eller- 
kar may know we have humbly recommended 
his good service unto your Highness ; which was 
such, as if all the rest had answered to the same, 
the enemy had been utterly discomforted ; and 
that it may please your Majesty to give him 
credit for the declaration thereof more at large. 
Further ; whereas Mr. Henry Dudley was one 
of those of the first rank that gave the onset 
upon the enemy, and is a man [to be esteemed] 
for his knowledge, heart, and of good service, it 
may like your Highness to be his good and gra- 
cious Lord ; that whereas Mr. Poynings, late 



xliv MEMOIR OF THE 

captain of your Majesty's guard here is deceased, 
if your Highness shall think him able to succeed 
him in that room, at our humble intercession to 
admit him thereto ; if it may so stand with your 
most gracious pleasure. 

" And thus beseeching your Highness to ac- 
cept our poor service, albeit the success in all 
things was not such as we wished, yet was the 
enemies enterprise disappointed, which could not 
have been otherwise done, and more of their part 
slain than of ours ; and the fortress in as great 
misery as before, and a sudden flight the let of a 
full victory. And if any disorder there were, we 
assure your Majesty there was no default in the 
rulers, nor lack of courage to be given them, but 
a humour that sometime reigneth in Englishmen : 
most humbly thanking your Majesty that it hath 
pleased the same to consider their payment; 
which shall much revive their hearts to adventure 
most willingly their lives, according to their most 
bounden duty, in your Majesty's service, to make 
recompense for the disorder that now they have 
made. 

" And thus we pray to God to preserve your 
most excellent Majesty. From your Highness's 
town of Boulogne, this 8th of January, 1546. 

Your Majesty's most humble 

and obedient Servants and Subjects, 

H. Surrey. 

Hugh Poulet. Henry Palmer. 

Richard Cavendish. John Byrggys. 

Richard Wyndebancke. 



EARL OF SURREY. xlv 

" P.S. Whereas we think that this victual can 
serve for no long time, that they have put into 
the fortress ; wherefore it is to be thought the 
enemy will attempt the like again shortly : it 
may please your Majesty to resolve what is fur- 
ther to be done by us ; and for the declaration 
of our poor opinions therein, we have sent Mr. 
Ellerkar to your Majesty, to whom may it please 
vour Highness to give credit in that behalf; and 
the present tempest being such, we have thought 
it meet to send these before, and stay him for a 
better passage." 

His defeat has been supposed to have lessened 
the good opinion which the King entertained of 
him ; but this is doubtful, as he continued in the 
command of Boulogne for three months after 
that event ; and, in the beginning of March, 
he applied to Henry for permission that his wife 
might join him at Boulogne, which request was 
refused, on the ground that " time of service, 
which will bring some trouble and disquietness 
unmeet for women's imbecilities, approacheth." 
The first intimation he received that he was to 
be superseded was in a letter from Secretary 
Paget, dated about the middle of March, in 
which there are these passages : — 

" My Lord, the latter part of your letter, 
touching the intended enterprise of the enemy, 
giveth me occasion to write unto you frankly my 
poor opinion ; trusting your Lordship will take 
the same in no w r orse part than I mean it. As 
your Lordship wisheth, so his Majesty mindeth 
to do somewhat for the enclommaging of the 



xlvi , MEMOIR OF THE 

enemy : and for that purpose hath appointed to 
send an army over shortly, and that my Lord of 
Hertford shall be his Highness's Lieutenant 
General at his being in Boulonnois. 1 Whereby 
I fear your authority of Lieutenant shall be 
touched : for I believe that the later ordering of 
a Lieutenant taketh away the commission of 
him that was there before. Now, my Lord, be- 
cause you have been pleased I should write mine 
advice to your Lordship in things concerning 
your honour and benefit, I could no less do than 
put you in remembrance how much in mine 
opinion this shall touch your honour, if you 
should pass the thing over in silence until the 
very time of my Lord of Hertford's coming over 
thither 5 for so should both your authority be 
taken away, as I fear is Boulonnois, and also it 
should fortune ye to come abroad without any 
place of estimation in the field ; which the world 
would much muse at, and, though there be no 
such matter, think you were rejected upon occa- 
sion of some either negligence, inexperience, or 
such other like fault; for so many heads so 
many judgments. Wherefore, my Lord, in my 
opinion, you should do well to make sure by 
times to his Majesty to appoint you to some 
place of service in the army ; as to the Captain- 
ship of the Foreward, or Rearward ; or to such 
other place of honour as should be meet for you ; 

1 This appointment was announced officially by the Privy 
Council to Surrey and the Council of Boulogne on the 21st 
of March, 1545-6, by a dispatch of which a minute is in the 
State Paper Office, and has been printed by Nott, i. 227. 
Lord Hertford reached Calais on the 23rd of March. 



EARL OP SURREY. xlvii 

for so should you be where knowledge and ex- 
perience may be gotten. Whereby you should 
the better be able hereafter to serve, and also to 
have peradventure occasion to do some notable 
service in revenge of your men, at the last en- 
counter with the enemies, which should be to 
your reputation in the world. Whereas, being 
hitherto noted as you are a man of a noble cou- 
rage, and of a desire to show the same to the 
face of your enemies, if you should now tarry at 
home within a wall, having I doubt a show of 
your authority touched, it would be thought 
abroad I fear, that either you were desirous to 
tarry in a sure place of rest, or else that the 
credit of your courage and forwardness to serve 
were diminished ; and that you were taken here 
for a man of [little] activity or service. 

" Wherefore, in my opinion, you shall do well, 
and provide wisely for the conservation of your 
reputation, to sue to his Majesty for a place of 
service in the field. Wherein if it shall please 
you to use me as a mean to his Majesty, I trust 
so to set forth the matter to his Majesty, as he 
shall take the same in gracious part, and be 
content to appoint you to such a place as may 
best stand with your honour. And this counsel 
I write unto you as one that would you well ; 
trusting that your Lordship will even so inter- 
pret the same, and let me know your mind here- 
in betimes." 

Within a few weeks Surrey was summoned to 
the King's presence to advise on the best mode 
of fortifying Boulogne \ but this command was 



xlviii MEMOIR OF THE 

in fact a civil manner of announcing that he was 
superseded by the Earl of Hertford. 

The next notice which occurs of the Earl is 
the following letter from him to Secretary Paget, 
dated on the 14th of July, which is very cha- 
racteristic. It relates to his conduct whilst com- 
mander of Boulogne with respect to the claims 
of some of the King's servants, as well as of 
persons to whom Surrey had given certain ap- 
pointments. His reply to Lord Grey's insinua- 
tion that he had himself derived a profit from 
them is written with all the dignity of conscious 
integrity : " There are," he says, " in Boulogne 
too many witnesses that Henry of Surrey was 
never corrupted by personal considerations, and 
that his hand never closed upon a bribe : a les- 
son," he adds, " which he learnt from his father, 
whom he desired to imitate in this as in all other 
things." 

" To the Right Worshipful Sir William Paget, 
Kt. one of his Majesty's Principal Secre- 
taries : 

" It may like you, with my hearty commen- 
dations ; that whereas yesternight I perceived by 
you, that the King's Majesty thinketh his libe- 
rality sufficiently extended towards the strangers 
that have served him, I have with fair words 
done my best so to satisfy them accordingly ; 
assuring you on my faith, that their necessity 
seemed to me such, as it cost me an hundred 
ducats of mine own purse, and somewhat else : 



EARL OF SURREY. xlix 

so that now there resteth nothing to be done but 
their passports and ready dispatch from you, 
wherein it may please you to consider their 
great charges here. 

" And now you shall give me leave to come 
to mine own matters. Coming from Boulogne 
in such sort as you know, I left only two of my 
servants behind me ; John Rosington and Tho- 
mas Copeland. To the said John, for his not- 
able service, I gave the advantage of the play in 
Boulogne ; to Thomas, the prefect of the pas- 
sage : whom my Lord Grey put immediately 
out of service after my departure, notwithstand- 
ing the letter I obtained from you to him in 
their favour. Upon a better consideration, John 
occupieth his room ; and my Lord to his own 
use occupieth the other's office of the passage ; 
saying, ' That I, and my predecessors there 
should use the same to our gain ;' (which I assure 
you is untrue) and that it should be parcel of 
the entertainment of the Deputy ; which in 
Calais was never used, and is, me seemeth, too 
near for a Deputy to grate ; unless it were for 
some displeasure borne me. 

" Finally, Mr. Secretary, this is the only suit 
that I have made vou for any thing; touching 
Boulogne sit-h my departure ; wherefore it may 
please you, that if my Lord Grey will needs be 
passager, and that the office was Yio less worth 
to the said Thomas than fifty pounds a year, 
being placed there by a King's Lieutenant, 
(which me thinketh a great disorder that a Cap- 
tain of Boulogne should displace for any private 
d 



1 MEMOIH OF THE 

gain,) yet at the least it may please you to re- 
quest my Lord Grey to recompense him with a 
sum of money in recompense of that, that he 
hath lost, and purchased so dearly with so many 
dangers of life; which my said Lord of his 
liberality cannot refrain to do. 

" And for answer, that my said Lord chargeth 
me to have returned the same to my private pro- 
fit, in his so saying he can have none honour. 
For there be in Boulogne too many witnesses 
that Henry of Surrey was never for singular 
profit corrupted ; nor never yet bribe closed his 
hand : which lesson I learned of my father ; and 
wish to succeed him therein as in the rest. 

" Further ; whereas the said Copeland was 
placed there for his merits by Mr. Southwell, 
and me, of the guard ; and that my said Lord 
Grey detaineth from him his wages, it may please 
you, at my hearty request, to grant him your 
letters for the obtaining thereof; and of the rest, 
and to pardon my frankness, for that you know 
it is my natural, to use it with [such as I do 
hold my friends]. And thus washing you [to 
continue ever more] my friend, till I deserve 
of [any fault of mine the con]trary, I pray to 
God send you [what ever good your own] 

heart desireth. From 14th July 

1546. 

" Your assured loving friend, 

"H. Surrey." 

The great influence which the Earl of Iiert- 



I 



EARL OF SURREY. li 

ford possessed was viewed with jealousy by Nor- 
folk and his son, though they sought to conci- 
liate him by proposing an alliance between the 
widowed Duchess of Richmond, whose marriage 
was never consummated, and the Earl's brother, 
Sir Thomas Seymour. This alliance did not, 
however, take place, and Surrey, either from dis- 
like of Hertford or from some other cause, was not 
employed under him. Disappointed ambition, 
in a person of an impetuous and haughty temper, 
generally vents itself in bitter speeches against 
the author of a supposed wrong ; and Surrey, 
after his return to England, towards the end of 
March, 1547, often expressed himself with great 
asperity about Hertford. 

This conduct having reached the king's ears, 
Surrey was arrested and imprisoned at Windsor 
in July following, when Henry ordered his 
father to be apprised of his imprudence. The 
Duke in a letter to the Council desired them to 
thank his Majesty for informing him of his son's 
" foolish demeanour ;" and after expressing plea- 
sure at finding he had evinced a proper sense 
of his behaviour, Norfolk prayed that he might 
be " earnestly handled, in order that he may 
have regard hereafter so to use himself, that he 
may give his Majesty no cause of discontent." 
Surrey's confinement must have been short, as 
he officiated at court early in August, on the 
arrival of the French Ambassadors. 

During the first two weeks of December the 
enemies of the Earl were actively engaged in 
collecting evidence to accomplish his destruction. 



lii MEMOIR, OF THE 

The king was known to be dying, and the Earl 
of Hertford, as uncle to the heir of the throne, 
aspired to be protector of the kingdom during 
the minority of his nephew ; whilst on the other 
hand, Surrey had been for some years specula- 
ting on a Norfolk regency. Suspicion having 
been aroused by the assumption of the royal 
arms by the Earl, and his known dislike to 
u the new nobility/' it was not difficult to con- 
trive the mesh in which he was ultimately 
snared. From some fragments of evidence dis- 
covered by Mr. Froude in the State Paper 
Office (Domestic, vol. xix.) we have a remarkable 
illustration of the hastiness of Surrey's temper, 
and the enthusiastic turn of his mind. 

" Sir Edmund Warner being commanded by 
Sir William Paget to put in writing all such 
words and communications as had heretofore been 
betwixt him and the Earl of Surrey that might in 
any wise touch the King's Highness and his 
posterity, or of any other person, what he had 
heard of the said Earl that might in any way 
tend to the same effect, deposed, that of the 
Earl himself he had heard nothing ; but in the 
summer last past Mr. Devereux did tell him 
upon certain communications of the pride and 
vain glory of the said Earl, that it was possible 
it might be abated one day; and when he, Sir 
Edmund Warner, asked what he meant thereby, 
he said, what if he were accused to the King, 
that he should say, ' If God should call the 
Kinp; to his mercy, who were so meet to govern 
the Prince as my Lord his father.'" 



EARL OF SURREY. Hii 

" Sir Edward Rogers being examined, de- 
posed, Sir George Blage was in communication 
with the Earl and me, and the Earl entered in 
question with Blage, or Blage with the Earl, 
who were meetest to have the rule and govern- 
ance of the Prince in case God should disclose 
his pleasure on the King's majesty. Blage said 
he thought meetest such as his Highness should 
appoint. The Earl contrary-wise said that his 
father was the meetest personage to be deputed 
to that room, as well in respect of the good ser- 
vice he had done, as also for his estate. Blage 
answered, saying, He trusted never to see that 
day, and that the Prince should be but evil 
taught if he were of his father's teaching." 

But a sadder charge against the character of 
Surrey was next to follow, of which it is difficult 
to believe it capable. 

" Sir Gawin Carew examined, said that my 
Lady of Richmond (sister of the Earl) had dis- 
covered unto him as strange a practice of her 
brother as ever he had heard of, which was that 
the aforesaid Earl, pretending the face of a mar- 
riage to have succeeded between Sir Thomas 
Seymour and the said lady, did will and advise 
her that what time the King's majesty should 
send for her (as it should be brought about that 
the King's Highness should move her in that 
behalf), she should so order herself as neither 
she should seem to grant nor to deny that his 
Majesty did will her unto, but rather to so tem- 
per her tale as his Highness might thereby have 
occasion to send for her again, and so possibly 



liv MEMOIR OF THE 

that his Majesty might cast some love unto her, 
whereby in process she should bear as great a 
stroke about him as Madame d'Estampes did 
about the French king." 

In another deposition on the same subject, 
the deponent says, " that the reply of the Du- 
chess to these suggestions was, that she defied 
her brother, and said that they should all perish, 
and she would cut her own throat rather than 
she would consent to such a villany." 

On the 12th of December Surrey and his 
father were arrested and sent to the Tower, each 
being ignorant of the other's fate, and the king 
was persuaded to proceed to extremities with the 
Howards. The Duchess of Richmond at this 
time was at her usual residence, her father's 
mansion of Kenninghall, near Thetford, whither 
three commissioners, Sir John Gate, Sir Richard 
Southwell, and Sir Wy mound Carew, were dis- 
patched in all haste. Their report to the King x 
not only gives a graphic picture of this startling 
catastrophe in a great household; but shows 
how overcome with alarm and doubt the Du- 
chess herself was, and how, in her natural anxiety 
to defend her father, she was entrapped perhaps 
into making further admissions respecting her 
brother than she might otherwise have done. 

The commissioners state, that on their arrival 
at Kenninghall on December 14, 1546, -^we 
did declare our desire to speak with the Duchess 

1 Printed in extenso in the State Papers, temp. Henry 
VIII, vol. i. p. 888, published by th^ Record Commission, 



EARL OF SURREY. lv 

of Richmond and Elizabeth Holland, x both 
which we found at that time newly risen, and 
not ready. Nevertheless, having knowledge 
that we would speak with them, they came unto 
us without delay into the dining chamber, and 
so we imparted unto them the case and condition 
wherein the said Duke and his son, without 
your great mercy, did stand ; wherewith as we 
found the Duchess a woman sore perplexed, 
trembling, and like to fall down, so coming 
unto herself again, she was not, we assure 
your Majesty, forgetful of her duty, and did 
most humbly and reverently upon her knees 
humble herself in all unto your Highness, say- 
ing that although nature constrained her sore to 
love her father, whom she hath ever thought to 
be a true and faithful subject, and also to desire 
the well-doing of his son, her natural brother, 
whom she noteth to be a rash man. Yet, for 
her part, she would nor will hide or conceal any 
thing from your Majesty's knowledge, specially 
if it be of weight, or otherwise, as it shall fall 
in her remembrance, which she hath promised, 
for the better declaration of her integrity, to ex- 
hibit in writing unto your Highness's most 
honourable council/ 7 

The commissioners then state, that they 

1 u That drab, Bess Holland," as the enraged Duchess of 
Norfolk styles her in one of her letters, who was the princi- 
pal cause of the domestic quarrels at Kenninghall. She 
retained her influence over the Duke until the time of his 
attainder, as is amply shown by the inventories of her ap- 
parel and jewels, which were seized by the commissioners, 
but afterwards restored to her. 



lvi MEMOIR OF THE 

searched the chambers and coffers of the 
Duchess, but found no papers of consequence, 
and her chambers were, they report, " so bare, 
as your majesty will hardly think, her jewels, 
such as she had, sold or lende to gage, to pay 
her debts, as she, her maidens, and the almoner 
do say." In Elizabeth Holland's chamber were 
found more trinkets, girdles, beads, buttons, 
rings, &c, but still no papers. The Countess of 
Surrey is named as being at Kenninghall with 
her children and nursery women, and " looking 
her time to lie in at this next Candlemass." 
The King's will is consulted as to whether she is 
to remain there, or the household to be broken 
up. The Duchess of Richmond and Elizabeth 
Holland set off that day or the next for London. 
The Earl of Surrey was accused of high trea- 
son under the statute of the 28th of Henry VIII, 
chap. vii. sect. 12, entitled, u An Act for the Es- 
tablishment of the Succession of the Imperial 
Crown of the Realm," whereby, among other 
offences, it was enacted, that if any person by 
speaking, writing, or printing, or by any other 
act or deed, did any thing to the peril of the 
King's person or of his heir, or should by any 
act, speech, or deed, occasion the King to be 
disturbed in the possession of his Crown, he 
should be considered a traitor. The indictment 
then proceeds to recite that King Edward the 
Confessor had borne certain arms which belonged 
exclusively to that monarch, his progenitors, 
and successors, Kings of England ; that Henry 
and all his progenitors had, from time immemo- 



EARL OF SURREY. lvii 

rial, used and borne the said arms, they being 
annexed to the crown of England; that Prince 
Edward, the King's son and heir apparent, had 
always borne the same arms from the time of his 
birth, with the difference of a silver label of 
three points, to the said Prince of right belong- 
ing, and to no other subject whatever; that the 
Earl of Surrey, unmindful of his allegiance, had, 
as a false traitor and public enemy of the King, 
conspired to withdraw his subjects from their 
allegiance, and to deprive the King of his royal 
dignity, on the 7th of October, 1546, in Ken- 
ninghall, in the county of Norfolk, in the house 
of Thomas, Duke of Norfolk, his father, by 
traitorously and openly causing the said arms of 
the King, with three silver labels, to be painted 
in conjunction with his own proper arms, there- 
by intending to repress, destroy, annihilate, and 
scandalize the true and undoubted title of the 
said Lord, the now King to the crown of this 
his realm of England ;' and also traitorously to 
disinherit and interrupt the said Lord Prince 
Edward of his true and undoubted title in and 
to the said crown of this realm of England, and 
then and there maliciously, voluntarily, and 
traitorously giving occasion whereby the said 
Lord the now King mio-lit be disturbed and in- 
terrupted in his said true title to the said crown 
of this his realm of England, to the scandal, 
peril, derogation, and contempt of the said Lord 
the now King and of his said lawful title to his 
said crown of England. * 

1 Dr. Xott, in Lis Memoir of the Earl, p. ci, has printed 






Iviii MEMOIR OF THE 

In proof of this charge Mrs. Holland, the 
Duke of Norfolk's mistress, deposed in general 
terms that he had reproached Surrey for his 
want of skill in quartering his arms. The 
Duchess of Richmond declared that he had 
spoken with asperity of Hertford, to whom he 
attributed his late imprisonment ; that he had 
shown dislike to the new nobility ; had com- 
plained that the King expressed displeasure for 
the defeat at Boulogne in the preceding year ; 
that he had dissuaded her from reading too far 
in the scriptures ; and that he had erected an 
altar in a church at Boulogne : but in the con- 
clusion of her deposition, she maliciously in- 
sinuated that the earl had surmounted his arms 
instead of with a coronet, with what " seemed 
to her much like a close crown, and a cipher 
which she took to be the king's cipher, H.R." 



a document found in the Heralds' College, of a conversation 
between Surrey and the Richmond Herald respecting an 
alteration in his arms, which took place whilst Surrey was 
still in favour, and before he went to Boulogne. This docu- 
ment was probably adduced against him upon his trial. 
Charles Young (now Garter) discovered the original in the 
library of the College of Arms. It is in a collection of vari- 
ous papers, bound up together, and given by Sir William 
Dugdale to the College. He has also ascertained that Sir 
Gilbert Dethycke was the Richmond Herald there alluded 
to, and it also appears clear to him that Sir Chris. Barker, 
then garter king at arms, was the person with whom the 
conversation was held. He appeared as a witness at Surrey's 
trial, and if the conversation stated be the summary of his 
evidence, it would prove that he added great ingratitude to 
his impatience, and the ignorance in his profession, which 
he then made proof of. (Memorials of the Howard Family, ed. 
1837, No. VII.) 



EAitL OF SURREY. lix 

Sir Edmund Knyvett and Thomas Pope also 
gave their testimony, but it contained nothing of 
the slightest importance. 

The crime for which this young nobleman 
was thus arraigned has never been properly ex- 
amined ; and, satisfied with its manifest absur- 
dity, historians as well as the biographers of 
Surrey have omitted to point out upon what 
grounds that inference is justified. 

The arms of King Edward the Confessor are 
presumed to have been a blue field charged with 
a gold cross flory at the ends, between five gold 
martlets, a kind of swallow without legs ; but as 
heraldry was then unknown, it is extremely 
doubtful if this or any other bearing was used 
by that monarch. Arms appear to have been 
used by the kings of England in the reign of 
Richard the First, who bore a red shield, charged 
with three gold lions, which have ever since 
been deemed to be the arms of England. As 
early as the time of Edward the First, and pro- 
bably about a century before, the arms of three 
saints were always borne on banners in the 
English army, and on all state occasions, namely, 
those of St. George, the tutelar saint of this 
country ; of St. Edmund, and of St. Edward 
the Confessor, but neither of those ensigns was 
deemed to be connected with the sovereignty of 
England. Richard the Second, however, being 
actuated by extraordinary veneration for St. 
Edward the Confessor, chose him for his patron 
saint, and impaled his arms with those of Eng- 
land and France \ and, at the same time, he 



ix MEMOIR OF THE 

granted the Confessor's arms to be borne per 
pale with the paternal coats of two or three of 
the most eminent noblemen of the day, each of 
whom was descended from the blood royal. 
One of the persons so distinguished was Thomas 
Mowbray, Earl of Nottingham and Duke of 
Norfolk, the right to whose arms and quarter- 
ings was indisputably inherited by the Earl of 
Surrey, but the right to the coat of the Confessor 
depends upon whether it was granted to Mowbray 
for life only, or to him and his heirs, a point 
w 7 hich has not been ascertained. Conceiving 
himself, however, entitled to it, 1 Surrey in mar- 
shaling his arms included it with his other 
numerous quarterings, and the injustice of con- 
struing the act into a treasonable design is still 
more apparent from other circumstances. Neither 
Henry the Eighth nor any other monarch after 
Richard the Second, ever used the arms of the 
Confessor in conjunction with their own, and 
the statement that Prince Edward then did so 
with a label, is not supported by any other evi- 



; 



1 The Duke of Norfolk stated in his petition to Quee: 
Mary, to have his own and Surrey's attainder reversed : 

" And forasmuch most gracious Sovereign Lady as the of- 
fence -wherewith your said subject and supplicant was charged, 
and whereof he was indicted, was forbearing of arms, which 
he and his ancestors had heretofore of long time and conti- 
nuance borne, as well within this realm as without, and as 
well also in the presence of the said late King, as in the pre- 
sence of divers of his noble progenitors, Kings of England, 
and which said arms your said supplicant and subject, and 
his ancestors might lawfully and justly bear and give, as by 
good and substantial matter of record it may and doth ap- 
pear.' 1 



EARL OF SURREY. Ixi 

dence. Surrey introduced the label as the 
proper distinction of his arms from those of his 
father, so that he appears to have done nothing 
that he was not authorized by law to do; and 
even at this moment heralds allow the Confes- 
sor's arms to several noble families. It is re- 
markable that whilst this preposterous accusation 
was brought against Surrey, he himself bore the 
royal arms by virtue of his descent from Thomas 
of Brotherton, 1 the son of Edward the First, 
whilst various other noblemen in the reign of 
Henry the Eighth quartered the royal arms of 
England and France, and two if not more of 
them, the Duke of Buckingham and the Earl 
of Wiltshire, had borne them, not in the inferior 
position of the third or fourth, but in the first 
quarter, as their paternal arms with impunity, 
and as a matter of acknowledged right. 3 

Surrey was brought to trial at the Guildhall on 
the 13th January, 1547, when he defended him- 
self with singular courage and ability, by ini- 

1 It is a singular fact, that when Henry the Eighth 
granted armorial ensigns to Anne Boleyn, then Marchioness 
of Pembroke, he took especial care to shew her royal and 
illustrious descent through the Howards, by introducing the 
arms of Thomas of Brotherton, son of Edward the First, and 
of the Warrens, Earls of Surrey, out of the Howard shield. 
j In the arms of Katharine Howard, Henry impaled with his 
own the same royal quartering of Brotherton, whilst in 
farther evidence of her royal descent, one of the quarterings 
was formed of the arms of France and England. 

2 It was for some centuries the Law of Arms, that when- 
ever a person was entitled to quarter the royal arms, they 
were to take precedence of all others by being placed in the 
first quarter. 



lxii MEMOIR OF THE 

peaching the evidence brought against him, and 
urging his right, on the authority of the Heralds 
and of precedent, to bear the obnoxious arms. 
"When a witness asserted that, in a conversation 
with the Earl, he repeated some strong expression 
which Surrey had used, together with his own 
insolent reply, the prisoner made no other obser- 
vation than by turning to the Jury and saying, 
" I leave it to you to judge whether it were pro- 
bable that this man should speak thus to the Earl 
of Surrey and he not strike him." 

But neither eloquence, nor spirit, nor even in- 
nocence itself, was likely to avail a man accused 
of treason in the reign of Henry the Eighth; and 
the Jury, among whom it is melancholy to find 
two near relations of his faithful attendant Glere, 
found him guilty. He was remanded to the 
Tower, and beheaded on the 21st of January, 
just eight days after his conviction, and when he 
was only thirty years of age. 1 

No particulars are preserved of his deportment 
in prison or on the scaffold; but from the noble 
spirit he evinced at his trial, and from his general 
character, it cannot be doubted that he behaved 
in the last scene of his existence with fortitude 
and dignity. On the barbarous injustice to which 

1 For some particulars of the trial of the Earl of Surrey 
consult Herbert's Life and Reign of Henry VIIL, fol. 1672, 
p. 626 ; Burnet's History of the Reformation, i. 345 ; and 
the "First Part of the Inventory and Calendar of the Con- 
tents of the Baga de Secretis," printed in the Third Keport 
of the Deputy Keeper of the Public Records, Feb. 28, 1842, 
Appendix, p. 267. 



EARL OF SURREY. lxiii 

he was sacrificed comment is unnecessary, but 
regret at his early fate is increased by the circum- 
stance that Henry himself, whose name is a 
disgrace to any country, in any age, was in 
extremities when he ordered his execution. His 
swollen and enfeebled hands having been long 
unequal to the task of guiding a pen, a stamp, 
with the facsimile of the initials " H. R.," was 
affixed to the death-warrant in his presence. 1 In 
like manner was that for the execution of the 
Duke of Norfolk signed ; but the King dying 
within the same week, his life was preserved. 
Surrey was buried in the church of All Hallows- 
Barking, Tower Street, but his body was re- 
moved to Framlingham by his son, the Earl of 
Northampton, where he erected a handsome 
monument to his father's memory, with this 
inscription : — 

HENEICO . HOWAEDO ] TU01L2E . SECTTNDI . DTJCIS 

NOKFOLCI^i . FILIO . PEIMOGENITO . TH01O3 .TEETH 

PATEI . COMITI . STJEEI^ . ET . GEOEGIANI . 0EDI1STS 

EOTITI . ATJEATO . IMMATUEE . ANSTO . SALTJTIS 

MDXEVI . ABEEPTO . ET .FEANCISC-SJ . UXOEI 

EJTJS.FILIJE.JOHAN^IS. COXITIS. OXONI^.HENEICTTS 

HOWAEDTJS . COMES . NOETHAMPTONL^S . EILITJS 

SEC UNDO . GE^ITUS . HOC . STJPEEM"UM . PIETATIS 

IN . PARENTES . MONTJMENTTJM . POSTJIT 

ANNO . DOMINI . MDCXIV. 

1 On August 31 j 1546, Henry appointed A. Denny, J. 
Gate, and William CI ere, to sign all instruments requiring 
his signature in the following manner : two them were to 
impress a dry stamp upon the instrument, and the third to 
fill up the impression with pen and ink. 



lxiv MEMOlPv OF THE 

The monument of the Earl of Surrey at Fram- 
lingham is an elevated tomb, with his arms and 
those of his lady in the front, in the angles, and 
an inscription in the centre. His effigy in 
armour, with an ermined mantle, his feet bearing 
against a lion couchant. His lady, in black, 
with an ermined mantle and a coronet, on his left, 
and both having their hands joined in prayer. 
On a projecting ply nth in front is the figure of 
his second son, the Earl of Northampton, in 
armour, with a mantle of ermine, kneeling in 
prayer. Behind, on a similar plynth, kneeling, 
with a coronet and in robes, his eldest daughter, 
Jane, Countess of Westmoreland, on the right ; 
and his third daughter, Catherine, the wife of 
Henry Lord Berkeley, kneeling on the left. 
The monument is kept in order, and painted 
occasionally, as directed by the will of the Earl 
of Northampton, out of the endowment of his 
hospital at Greenwich. In making a repair of 
this monument in October, 1835, the Rev. 
George Attwood, curate of Framlingham, disco- 
vered the remains of the Earl lying imbedded in 
clay, directly under his figure on his tomb. 

Whatever may have been the Earl's happiness 
in his own family, the situation of his parents 
must have occasioned him much uneasiness ; and 
it is to be regretted that his mother should have 
had to accuse him of unkindness. For several 
years after their marriage the Duke and Duchess 
lived together in comparative harmony ; and it 
does not appear when the discord first com- 
menced. She bore him five children ; and at a 



EARL OF SURREY. lxv 

period long after the event, she charged him 
with great cruelty at the time of the birth of 
the Duchess of Richmond ; but this he abso- 
lutely denied. The principal cause of alienation 
was the Duke's attachment to a lady whom the 
Duchess terms " that drab, Bess Holland," and 
which attachment was supposed by the Duchess 
to have commenced nearly seven years before her 
separation from him. It added to the Duchess's 
mortification that her daughter, the Duchess of 
Richmond, associated with this person. It was 
in 1534 that the final quarrel and separation 
took place; when the Duchess went to reside at 
Redborne in Hertfordshire, which she describes 
as a " hard" or expensive country. From not 
receiving a proper allowance for her support, she 
complained to Cromwell, the Lord Privy Seal, 
praying him to intercede on her behalf. Her 
letters, which are curious, are preserved in the 
Cottonian collection (Titus B. i.), and were 
consulted by Lord Herbert of Cherbury for his 
History of the Reign of Henry VIII, and 
are printed by Dr. Nott in the Appendix to his 
Life of the Earl of Surrey. The Duke of 
Norfolk died in 1554, and the Duchess survived 
him four years. She died on Nov. 30, 1558, 
and was buried in the Howard Chapel, Lambeth, 
where was formerly an epitaph written by her 
brother, Henry Lord Stafford. 

Lord Surrey left two sons, Thomas, then about 

the age of eleven, who became the fourth Duke 

of Norfolk ; and Henry, who was created, by 

James the First, Lord Howard of Marnhill and 

e 



Ixvi MEMOIR OF THE 

Earl of Northampton; and three daughters: 
Jane, who married Charles Neville Earl of 
Westmoreland ; Katharine, who became the wife 
of Henry Lord Berkeley; and Margaret, who 
married Henry Lord Scrope of Bolton. All 
which is known of his widow, the Countess 
Frances, is, that she married secondly, in the 
reign of Edward the Sixth, Thomas Steyning, 
of Woodford, in Suffolk, Esq., by whom she 
had a daughter, Mary, who married Charles 
Seckford, Esq. The Countess died at Soham 
Earl, about a mile and a half from Fram ling- 
ham, on the 30th June, 1577 ; thirty years after 
the death of the Earl of Surrey. 

A curious inventory of Surrey's apparel is par- 
ticularly deserving of notice, from the manner in 
which it was distributed among his enemies the 
Seymours, and others, by the Crown, to which it 
fell by his attainder. These rapacious favourites 
considered nothing too trifling for their accept- 
ance, and their conduct affords a humiliating 
idea of a nobleman of the sixteenth century. 
Both the Protector and his brother partook also 
very largely of the Duke of Norfolk's jewels and 
other property. 

All these to the Duke or Somerset. — One Parlia- 
ment robe of purple velvet, with a garter set upon the 
shoulder ; four black velvet caps, set with pearl and gold- 
smiths' work; a hat of crimson satin and crimson velvet, 
with a white feather; a scarf of crimson gold, sarcenet; two 
pairs of knit hose ; two dozen arming points ; a knit petti- 
coat ; two rapiers, all gilt,*graven antique ; two daggers, all 
gilt and graven, appendant to two girdles ; a gilt dagger, 
with a sheath of black velvet; a pair of stirrups, all gilt; 
ditto, parcel gilt ; another pair of stirrups ; two pair of spurs 



EARL OF SURREY. lxvii 

gilt; a horse harness of black velvet, set with studs, of cop- 
per, and gilt ; a fod cloth of black velvet, fringed with Ve- 
nice gold ; a horse harness of crimson velvet, fringed with 
Venice gold. 

To Mr. Collet and Mr. Thorp. — A robe, with hood, 
and crimson velvet. 

To Mr. Brian. — A gown of cloth of gold, furred and 
faced with sables. 

All these to Sir Henry Seymour. — A gown of 
black velvet, with a curious guard of black satin ; a gown 
of crimson taffeta, faced with busard : a coat and cassock of 
black velvet, the one wrought with satin, and the other with 
satin and wreaths ; a cape of frizardo, guarded upon with 
velvet, and embroidered upon with russet satin; with other 
doublets, hoses, caps and shirts. 

Mr. Fowler. — A gown of black satin embroidered and 
lined with gold sarcenet ; a cassock of black silk embroidered 
and lined with gold sarcenet. 

Mrs. Winfred Fisher. — A robe of black velvet set 
with buttons of gold enamelled black and white ; a pair of 
hose, black velvet, laid on with threads of Venice gold. 

Mr. Philpot. — A robe of black velvet, embroidered with 
tawney satin ; with other doublets and hoses. 

Mr. T. Allen. — A doublet of black satin cut. 

Mr. Colley and Mr. Thorp.— A shirt wrought with 
black silk to each. 



It is difficult to pronounce a certain opinion 
upon Surrey's personal character. Dr. Nott 
and his other biographers have spoken of his 
merits in a strain of eulogy which, to say the 
least, is not borne out by the few notices that 
are preserved of him. That he was accom- 
plished is amply manifested by his works, which 
also indicate a correct moral taste, since there is 
not, in the whole of his poems, one word, or an 
allusion to a single thought, to which the most 
fastidious person can possibly object. This merit 
deserves greater praise than it has hitherto re- 



lxviii MEMOIR OF THE 

ceived, because he is almost the first English 
versifier who possessed it ; and it is no slight 
proof of the purity of his mind. Surrey's greatest 
fault appears to have been a naturally hasty and 
impetuous temper, which, in a man of exalted 
rank and great influence, was probably in- 
creased by his station exacting deference and 
submission from the greater part of those with 
whom he came in contact. In his brief career 
he was imprisoned no less than three times, and 
ultimately lost his life from his imprudent con- 
duct ; and the only excuse which can be made 
for him is, that he was young, and that he was 
too proud and too ingenuous to conceal what 
he thought. His conduct towards the Duchess 
of Norfolk has been already adverted to, and 
whatever may have been her errors, the son who 
could, under any circumstances, treat his mother 
with unkindness has slight claim to be considered 
an amiable man. Surrey's military talents and his 
ardent courage do not admit of being questioned, 
and his veneration for his father tends, in a slight 
degree, to redeem his behaviour towards his 
mother. Examples of his zeal for his friends, 
and of his deep sense of honour, have been ad- 
duced in this memoir, and they certainly entitle 
his memory to respect, whilst his conduct as. a 
husband and a father has never been impeached. 
Of the writings of Surrey, and the rank to 
which he is entitled among the poets of England, 
the remarks of Puttenham, Warton, Henry, 
Dr. Nott, Hallam, and D'Israeli, contain all 
which can be said on the subject. Pope brought 






EARL OF SUKREY. lxix 

him into notice during the last century by the 
following pasage in the Windsor Forest, which 
occasioned his poems to be immediately re- 
printed twice : — 

" Here noble Surrey felt the sacred rage, 

Surrey, the Granville of a former age ; 
Matchless his pen, victorious was his lance ; 

Bold in the lists, and graceful in the dance : 
In the same shades the Cupids tun'd his lyre, 

To the same notes of love and soft desire; 
Fair Geraldine, bright object of his vow, 

Then fill'd the groves, as heavenly Myra now." 

It is difficult to give extracts from Dr. Nott's 
remarks on Surrey's w T ri tings, but the following 
passages seem to convey all that is material : — 

" Surrey perceived that some change in our 
versification was unavoidable, and he attempted 
a change, which was conceived, as the event 
has proved, in a perfect knowledge of the nature 
and genius of the English language. The change 
he proposed and effected w r as this. He substi- 
tuted for the old rhythmical mode of versification 
one, as nearly metrical as the nature of any lan- 
guage, which regulates the value of syllables by 
accent, and not by quantity, will allow. He 
limited the heroic verse to ten syllables, and 
these he divided into five equal Iambic feet; 
for he perceived that the frequent return of the 
short syllable was necessary to correct that lan- 
guor and ponderosity which the constant recur- 
rence of monosyllables would otherwise occasion. 
He was aware, however, that the Iambic mea- 
sure, though sweet in itself, was liable to become 



lxx MEMOIR OF THE 

monotonous and pall upon the ear. He there- 
fore introduced the further refinement of break- 
ing the lines with pauses. The natural place 
for the pause was at the end of the fourth syllable 
where the old caesura generally fell ; but he 
varied the situation of his pauses as he found 
the harmony of the verse required, or as he 
thought the beauty and effect of the passage 
would be heightened by it. 

" Such was the system of versification intro- 
duced by Surrey. Of the correctness of his 
taste and the justness of his reasoning upon the 
subject, no further proof need be required than 
the event. For the laws of English versifica- 
tion, such as they were established by Surrey, 
have been adopted by our standard writers, 
with hardly any variation, ever since. At par- 
ticular times, indeed, a particular taste has for 
a short season prevailed. Thus in the reign of 
James, and of Charles the First, quaintness, 
and a love of antithesis gave a new turn to our 
versification, and made it abrupt and irregular. 
But in the two best epochs of our poetry, during 
the reign of Elizabeth and after the Restoration, 
those principles of versification alone were ob- 
served which Surrey had introduced. An at- 
tentive reader will be surprised to find how 
little was added afterwards by even Dryden or 
Pope to the system and perfectness of Surrey's 
numbers. 

" Surrey first rejected the use of those 'au- 
reate and mellifluate' terms, which he found 
disfiguring our language with a sort of pre- 



EARL OF SURREY. lxxi 

scriptive tyranny, and restricted himself to the 
use of those words alone which were approved 
by common use, and were natural to the lan- 
guage. 

11 He next introduced a studied mode of in- 
volution in his periods, which gives dignity to 
what is so expressed, and a certain remoteness 
from common life, essential to the higher 
branches of poetic composition. And lastly, 
he discountenanced altogether the French mode 
of laying an unnatural stress upon final syl- 
lables ; he followed the obvious and common 
pronunciation of our language 5 carefully avoid- 
ing all double terminations, and using only 
those words for rhyme which were noble and 
harmonious, and such as the ear might dwell 
upon with pleasure. 

" Such were the improvements made by 
Surrey in our versification and poetic diction. 
These alone, had nothing more been effected 
by him, would have entitled him to the praise 
of having been the restorer of modern Eng- 
lish poetry. But we owe to him further ob- 
ligations. He first introduced the use of Blank 
Heroic Verse. In this respect the praise is ex- 
clusively his own. In reforming our versifica- 
tion and poetic diction, he had in some degree 
Chaucer for his guide ; and in some degree he 
was conducted by the bent and genius of our 
language. When he attempted blank verse he 
had no guide whatever, as far as we have yet 
been able to discover, but his own judgment and 
taste. All writers are agreed that Surrey's trans- 



Ixxii MEMOIR OF THE 

lation of the Second and Fourth Book of 
Virgil's iEneid is the first specimen of Heroic 
Blank Verse in our language. 

" The leading features of Surrey's style were 
chiefly dignity and compression. Of his com- 
pression, contrasted with the diffusive mode of 
writing used by all the authors who preceded 
him, a more striking instance cannot well be 
found than that which occurs in the opening to 
his sonnet on Sir Thomas Wyatt's death. 

" The reader's observation will enable him 
easily to collect from Surrey's poems other in- 
stances of elegant and nervous compression. I 
do not recollect a single passage where a thought 
is needlessly expanded for the sake of filling up 
a line. Surrey's style bears a stronger resem- 
blance to Dryden's than to that of any other of 
our poets. The same manliness, and ease, and 
vigour characterizes both. In neither do we 
find any affection of prettiness ; they seem both 
to have been more intent on their thoughts than 
their words ; they gave their words, indeed, a 
full and a due consideration, but, as always ought 
to be the case, in subserviency to their thoughts. 

" It now remains to shew, that I have not 
laboured to give a higher importance to Surrey's 
writings, than they in reality possess. But how 
shall we appreciate his writings too highly, who 
by a single effort of genius corrected a nation's 
taste, and shewed them first the way to that per- 
fection in poetry, to which they have since at- 
tained? That the great change which in the 
sixteenth century took place in our national poetry, 



EARL OF SURREY. lxxiii 

was owing chiefly to the influence of Surrey's 
writings, seems to me incontestable from the 
general popularity which they obtained imme- 
diately upon their appearance : and the studied 
imitation of them to be traced in all our poets 
in succession, from Sackville down to Spenser. 

" Of the popularity of Surrey's poems, we 
have a convincing proof in the rapidity with 
which editions were multiplied. They were 
first printed in June, 1557. In the course of 
that and the following month they went through 
no less than four distinct impressions. 1 They 
were afterwards reprinted in 1565, in 1567 and 
in 1569, twice afterwards in 1574, again in 1585, 
and again in 1587. Besides this, selections from 
Surrey's poems were printed almost daily, with 
other popular pieces in single sheets, and in small 
collections called garlands ; by means of which 
they were made familiar to readers of the lower 
orders : whilst some of them, as we learn from 
the books of the Stationers' Company, were 
moralized ; a circumstance which of itself is suf- 
ficient to prove their popularity, and extensive 
circulation. 2 In addition to these facts we are 
to consider yet further, that Surrey's verses con- 
tinued to be multiplied in manuscript by many 

1 Mr. Collier says, " There may possibly have been three 
impressions in 1557 ; but we are convinced that there were 
not four." (Bibliographical Account of Early English Li- 
terature, ii. 403.) 

2 " Surrey's pleasing little ode, * When raging love with 
extreme pain,' which seems to have been a very popular 
piece, was printed in 1568 by J. Aide, moralized into 
' When raging lust,' &c. ' Give place, ye ladies,' &c : was 
often reprinted as a ballad." 



lxxiv MEMOIR OF THE EARL OF SURREY. 

who had not the means of purchasing printed 
copies ; and that they uniformly made part of 
all the printed miscellanies of those days, up to 
the beginning of the seventeenth century. It 
would be difficult to find an instance of any 
poet in any country whose works were in so 
short a time more widely circulated. And if 
so, we might ask, whether it would be possible 
that writings thus largely diffused, and thus 
universally admired, should not produce a 
general and a lasting effect on public taste." 





THE PRINTER TO THE READER. * 

fHAT to have well written in verse, 
yea, and in small parcels, deserveth 
great praise, the works of divers 
Latins, Italians, and others, do prove 
sufficiently. That our tongue is able in that kind 
to do as praiseworthily as the rest, the honourable 
style of the noble Earl of Surrey, and the 
weightiness of the deep witted Sir Thomas Wyatt 
the elder's verse, with several graces in sundry 
good English writers do show abundantly. It 
resteth now, gentle reader, that thou think it 
not evil done, to publish, to the honour of the 
English tongue, and for profit of the studious of 
English eloquence, those works which the un- 
gentle horders up of such treasure have here- 
tofore envied thee. And for this point, good 
reader, thine own profit and pleasure, in these 
presently, and in more hereafter, shall answer 
for my defence. If, perhaps, some mislike the 
stateliness of style removed from the rude skill 
of common ears, I ask help of the learned to 

1 This address by Tottel appeared in the first impression 
of 1557. 



lxxvi THE PRINTER TO THE READER. 

defend their learned friends, the authors of this 
work. And I exhort the unlearned, by reading 
to learn to be more skilful, and to purge that 
swine-like grossness, that maketh the sweet 
marjoram not to smell to their delight. 





SONGS AND SONNETS. 

DESCRIPTION OF THE RESTLESS STATE 
OF A LOVER, 

"WITH SUIT TO HIS LADY, TO RUE ON" HIS 
DYING HEART. 



\KE sun hath twice brought forth his 
tender green, 
Twice clad the earth in lively lusti- 
ness; 
Once have the winds the trees de- 
spoiled clean, 
And once again begins their cruelness ; 
Since I have hid under my breast the harm 
That never shall recover healthfulness. 
The winter's hurt recovers with the warm ; 
The parched green restored is with shade ; 
What warmth, alas ! may serve for to disarm 
The frozen heart, that mine in flame hath made ? 




2 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 

What cold again is able to restore 
My fresh green years, that wither thus and fade ? 
Alas ! I see nothing hath hurt so sore 
But Time, in time, reduceth a return : 
In time my harm increaseth more and more, 
And seems to have my cure always in scorn. 
Strange kinds of death, in life that I do try ! 
At hand, to melt; far off, in flame to burn. 
And like as time list to my cure apply, - 
So doth each place my comfort clean refuse. 
All thing alive, that seeth the heavens with eye, 
With cloak of night may cover, and excuse 
Itself from travail of the day's unrest, 
Save I, alas ! against all others use, 
That then stir up the torments of my breast ; 
And curse each star as causer of my fate. 
And when the sun hath eke the dark opprest, 
And brought the day, it doth nothing abate 
The travails of mine endless smart and pain. 
For then, as one that hath the light in hate, 
I wish for night, more covertly to plain, 
And me withdraw from every haunted place, 
Lest by my chere 1 my chance appear to plain. 
And in my mind I measure pace by pace, 
To seek the place where I myself had lost, 
That day that I was tangled in the lace, 
In seeming slack that knitteth ever most : 
But never yet the travail of my thought, 
Of better state, could catch a cause to boast. 
For if I found, sometime that I have sought, 
Those stars by whom I trusted of the port, 
My sails do fall, and I advance right nought ; 
1 Behaviour, looks. 



EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 3 

As anchor'd fast, my spirits do all resort 

To stand agazed, and sink in more and more 1 

The deadly harm which she doth take in sport. 

Lo ! if I seek, how I do find my sore ! 

And if I flee, I carry with me still 

The venom' d shaft, which doth his force restore 

By haste of flight ; and I may plain my fill 

Unto myself, unless this careful song 

Print in your heart some parcel of my tene. 2 

For I, alas ! in silence all too long, 

Of mine old hurt yet feel the wound but green. 

Rue on my life ; or else your cruel wrong 

Shall well appear, and by my death be seen. 



DESCRIPTION OF SPRING, 

WHEBELN" EACH THING KE^EWS, SATE ONLY 
THE LOYEB. 

*HE soote 3 season, that bud and bloom 
forth brings, 
With green hath clad the hill, and 
eke the vale : 
The nightingale with feathers new she sings ; 
The turtle to her make 4 hath told her tale ; 
Summer is come, for every spray now springs, 
The hart hath hung his old head on the pale ; 

1 To stand at gaze and suck in more and more. MSS. 
cited by Dr. Nott. 

2 i.e. Sorrow. 3 Sweet. 4 Mate. 




4 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 

The buck in brake his winter coat he flings; 
The fishes flete with new repaired scale ; 
The adder all her slough away she slings ; 
The swift swallow pursueth the flies smale -, 1 
The busy bee her honey now she mings ; 2 
Winter is worn that was the flowers' bale. 3 
And thus I see among these pleasant things 
Each care decays, and yet my sorrow springs ! 



DESCRIPTION OF THE RESTLESS STATE 
OF A LOVER. 



HEN youth had led me half the race 
That Cupid's scourge had made me run ; 
I looked back to mete the place 
From whence my weary course begun. 



And then I saw how my desire, 
Misguiding me, had led the way : 
Mine eyen, too greedy of their hire, 
Had made me lose a better prey. 

For when in sighs I spent the day, 
And could not cloak my grief with game ; 
The boiling smoke did still bewray 
The persaunt 4 heat of secret flame. 

1 Small. 2 Mingles. 

3 Destruction. 4 Or, present. 




EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 

And when salt tears do bain my breast, 
Where Love his pleasant trains hath sown ; 
Her beauty hath the fruits opprest, 
Ere that the buds were sprong and blown. 

And when mine eyen did still pursue 
The flying chase of their request ; 
Their greedy looks did oft renew 
The hidden wound within my breast. 

When every look these cheeks might stain, 
From deadly pale to glowing red ; 
By outward signs appeared plain, 
The woe wherein my heart was fed. 1 

But all too late Love learneth me 
To paint all kind of colours new ; 
To blind their eyes that else should see 
My speckled cheeks with Cupid's hue. 

And now the covert breast I claim, 
That worshipp'd Cupid secretly ; 
And nourished his sacred flame, 
From whence no blazing sparks do fiy. 

1 Some editions read : — 

"To her for help my heart was fled." 




EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 



DESCRIPTION OF THE FICKLE AFFEC- 
TIONS, PANGS, AND SLIGHTS 
OF LOVE. 

jj UCH wayward ways hath Love, that most 
part in discord 
Our wills do stand, whereby our hearts 
but seldom do accord. 
Deceit is his delight, and to beguile and mock 
The simple hearts, whom he doth strike with fro- 
war d, diverse stroke. 
He causeth the one to rage with golden burning 

dart ; 
And doth allay with leaden cold again the other's 

heart. 
Hot gleams of burning fire, and easy sparks of 

flame, 
In balance of unequal weight he pondereth by aim. 
From easy ford, where I might wade and pass full 

well, 
He me withdraws, and doth me drive into a deep 

dark hell ; 
And me withholds where I am call'd and offer'd 

place, 
And wills me that my mortal foe I do beseech of 

grace ; 
He lets me to pursue a conquest well near won, 
To follow where my pains were lost, ere that my 

suit begun. 



EARL OF SURREY S POEMS. 7 

So by this means I know how soon a heart may 

turn 
From war to peace, from truce to strife, and so 

again return. 
I know how to content myself in others lust ; 
Of little stuff unto myself to weave a web of trust ; 
And how to hide my harms with soft dissembling 

chere, 
When in my face the painted thoughts would out- 
wardly appear. 
I know how that the blood forsakes the face for 

dread ; 
And how by shame it stains again the cheeks with 

flaming red. 
I know under the green, the serpent how he lurks ; 
The hammer of the restless forge I wot eke how it 

works. 
I know, and can by rote the tale that I would tell ; 
But oft the words come forth awry of him that 

loveth well. 
I know in heat and cold the lover how he shakes; 
In singing how he doth complain ; in sleeping how 

he wakes. 
To languish without ache, sickless for to consume, 
A thousand things for to devise, resolving all in 

fume. 
And though he list to see his lady's grace full sore ; 
Such pleasures as delight his eye, do not his health 

restore. 
I know to seek the track of my desired foe, 
And fear to find that I do seek. But chiefly this 

I know, 
That lovers must transform into the thing beloved, 



8 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 

And live, (alas ! who could believe ?) with sprite 

from life removed. 
I know in hearty sighs, and laughters of the spleen, 
At once to change my state, my will, and eke my 

colour clean. 
I know how to deceive myself with others help ; 
And how the lion chastised is, by beating of the 

whelp. 
In standing near my fire, I know how that I freeze ; 
Far off I burn ; in both I waste, and so my life I 

lese. 
I know how love doth rage upon a yielding mind ; 
How small a net may take, and meash a heart of 

gentle kind : 
Or else with seldom sweet to season heaps of gall; 
Revived with a glimpse of grace, old sorrows to 

let fall. 
The hidden trains I know, and secret snares of love; 
How soon a look will print a thought, that never 

may remove. 
The slipper state I know, the sudden turns from 

wealth, 
The doubtful hope, the certain woe, and sure des- 
pair of health. 




EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 9 

COMPLAINT OF A LOYER THAT DEFIED 
LOVE, 

AND WAS BY LOVE AFTER THE MORE TORMENTED. 

^HEN summer took in hand the winter 
to assail, 
With force of might, and virtue great, 
his stormy blasts to quail : 
And when he clothed fair the earth about with 

green, 
And every tree new garmented, that pleasure was 

to seen : 
Mine heart gan new revive, and changed blood 

did stir, 
Me to withdraw my winter woes, that kept within 

the dore. 3 
( Abroad/ quoth my desire, ' assay to set thy foot ; 
Where thou shalt find the savour sweet; for 

sprong is every root. 
And to thy health, if thou were sick in any case, 
Nothing more good than in the spring the air to 

feel a space. 
There shalt thou hear and see all kinds of birds 

y-wrought, 
Well tune their voice with warble small, as nature 

hath them taught.' 
Thus pricked me my lust the sluggish house to 

leave, 

1 Door. 



10 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 

And for my health I thought it best such counsel 

to receive. 
So on a morrow forth, unwist of any wight, 
I went to prove how well it would my heavy bur- 
den light. 
And when I felt the air so pleasant round about, 
Lord ! to myself how glad I was that T had gotten 

out. 
There might I see how Ver 1 had every blossom 

hent, 2 
And eke the new betrothed birds, y-coupled how 

they went ; 
And in their songs, methought, they thanked 

Nature much, 
That by her license all that year to love, their hap 

was such, 
Right as they could devise to choose them feres 3 

throughout : 
With much rejoicing to their Lord, thus flew they 

all about. 
Which when I gan resolve, and in my head con- 
ceive, 
What pleasant life, what heaps of joy, these little 

birds receive ; 
And saw in what estate I, weary man, was wrought, 
By want of that, they had at will, and I reject at 

nought ; 
Lord ! how I gan in wrath unwisely me demean ! 
I cursed Love, and him defied ; I thought to turn 

the stream. 

1 Spring. 

2 Taken hold of, i.e. brought out every blossom. 

3 Companions, mates. 



EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 11 

But when I well beheld, he had me under awe, 
I asked mercy for my fault, that so transgrest his 

law ! 
6 Thou blinded god/ quoth I, c forgive me this 

offence, 
Unwittingly I went about, to malice thy pretence. 9 
Wherewith he gave a beck, and thus methought 

he swore : 
1 Thy sorrow ought suffice to purge thy fault, if it 

were more/ 
The virtue of which sound mine heart did so 

revive, 
That I, methought, was made as whole as any man 

alive. 
But here I may perceive mine error, all and some, 
For that I thought that so it was ; yet was it still 

undone ; 
And all that was no more but mine impressed mind, 
That fain would have some good relief, of Cupid 

well assign'd. 
I turned home forthwith, and might perceive it well, 
That he aggrieved was right sore with me for my 

rebel. 
My harms have ever since increased more and 

more, 
And I remain, without his help, undone for ever- 
more. 
A mirror let me be unto ye lovers all ; 
Strive not with Love ; for if ye do, it will ye thus 

befall. 




12 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 



COMPLAINT OF A LOYER REBUKED. 1 

^OVE, that liveth and reigneth in my 
thought, 
That built his seat within my captive 
breast ; 

Clad in the arms wherein with me he fought, 
Oft in my face he doth his banner rest. 
She, that me taught to love, and suffer pain ; 
My doubtful hope, and eke my hot desire 
With shamefast cloak to shadow and restrain, 
Her smiling grace converteth straight to ire. 
And coward Love then to the heart apace 
Taketh his flight ; whereas he lurks, and plains 
His purpose lost, and dare not shew his face. 
For my Lord's guilt thus faultless bide I pains. 
Yet from my Lord shall not my foot remove : 
Sweet is his death, that takes his end by love. 



COMPLAINT OF THE LOVER DISDAINED. 

jiN Cyprus springs, whereas dame Venus 
dwelt, 
A well so hot, that whoso tastes the 
same, 
Were he of stone, as thawed ice should melt, 

1 Translated from Petrarch, part i, sonnet 109. Wyatt 
also translated it: see his Poems, p. 1. 




earl of Surrey's poems. 13 

And kindled find his breast with fired flame ; 
Whose moist poison dissolved hath my hate. 
This creeping fire my cold limbs so opprest, 
That in the heart that harbour'd freedom late, 
Endless despair long thraldom hath imprest. 
Another so cold in frozen ice is found, 1 
Whose chilling venom of repugnant kind, 
The fervent heat doth quench of Cupid's wound, 
And with the spot of change infects the mind ; 
Whereof my dear hath tasted to my pain : 
My service thus is grown into disdain. 2 



DESCRIPTION AND PRAISE OF HIS LOVE 
GERALDINE. 

§ROM Tuscane came my Lady's worthy 
race ; 
Fair Florence was sometime her 3 an- 
cient seat : 

The western isle, whose pleasant shore doth face 
Wild Camber's cliffs, did give her lively heat : 
Foster'd she was with milk of Irish breast : 
Her sire an Earl; her dame of Princes blood. 
From tender years, in Britain she doth rest, 
With Kinges child; where she tasteth costly 4 food. 

1 Another well of frozen ice is found. — Nott. 

2 Wherebv my service grows into disdain. — Nott, 

3 i. e. Their. 

4 Ghostly, in some printed copies. 




14 EARL OY SURREY'S POEMS. 

Hunsdon did first present her to mine eyen : 
Bright is her hue, and Geraldine she hight. 
Hampton me taught to wish her first for mine ; 
And Windsor, alas ! doth chase me from her sight 

Her beauty of kind ; her virtues from above ; 

Happy is he that can obtain her love ! 



/ 



1/ 




THE FRAILTY AND HURTFULNESS OF 
BEAUTY. 1 

IRITTLE beauty, that Nature made so 
frail, 
Whereof the gift is small, and short 
the season ; 
Flowering to-day, to-morrow apt to fail ; 
Tickle treasure, abhorred of reason : 
Dangerous to deal with, vain, of none avail ; 
Costly in keeping, past not worth two peason ; 2 
Slipper in sliding, as is an eel's tail ; 
Hard to attain, once gotten, not geason : 3 
Jewel of jeopardy, that peril doth assail; 
False and untrue, enticed oft to treason ; 
Enemy to youth, that most may I bewail ; 
l Ah ! bitter sweet, infecting as the poison, 
V Thou farest as fruit that with the frost is taken ; 
x^o day ready ripe, to-morrow all to shaken. 

1 In the Harrington MS. this poem is attributed to Lord 
Vaux. 

2 Two pease. 3 Rare, or uncommon. 




earl of Surrey's poems. 15 

A COMPLAINT BY NIGHT OF THE LOVER 
NOT BELOYED. 

^LAS ! so all things now do hold their 
peace ! 
Heaven and earth disturbed in nothing; 
The beasts, the air, the birds their song 
do cease, 
The nightes car 1 the stars about doth bring. 
Calm is the sea ; the waves work less and less : 
So am not I, whom love, alas ! doth wring, 
Bringing before my face the great increase 
Of my desires, whereat I weep and sing, 
In joy and woe, as in a doubtful case. 
For my sweet thoughts sometime do pleasure bring; 
But by and by, the cause of my disease 
Gives me a pang, that inwardly doth sting, 
When that I think what grief it is again, 
To live and lack the thing should rid my pain. 



HOW EACH THING, SAVE THE LOVER IN 
SPRING, REVIVETH TO PLEASURE. 

JHEN Windsor walls sustain'd my 
wearied arm ; 
My hand my chin, to ease my rest- 
less head ; 

The pleasant plot revested green with warm ; 
1 Chare. 




16 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 

The blossom'd boughs, with lusty Ver 1 y-spread; 
The flower'd meads, the wedded birds so late 
Mine eyes discover; and to my mind resort 
The jolly woes, the hateless, short debate, 
The rakehell 2 life, that 'longs to love's disport. 
Wherewith, alas ! the heavy charge of care 
Heap'd in my breast breaks forth, against my will, 
In smoky sighs, that overcast the air. 
My vapour'd eyes such dreary tears distil, 

The tender spring which quicken where they fall; 

And I half bent to throw me down withal. 



A VOW TO LOVE FAITHFULLY, HOWSO- 
EVER HE BE REWARDED.^ 

ET me whereas the sun doth parch the 

green, 
Or where his beams do not dissolve the 

ice; 

In temperate heat, where he is felt and seen ; 
In presence prest 4 of people, mad, or wise; 
Set me in high, or yet in low degree ; 
In longest night, or in the shortest day ; 
In clearest sky, or where clouds thickest be ; 
In lusty youth, or when my hairs are gray : 
Set me in heaven, in earth, or else in hell, 

1 Spring. 2 Dissolute. 

3 Cf. Petrarch, Parte Prima, Son. 113; and Horace, Lib. 
i. Ode 22. 

4 Query, press, i. e. in the presence of a crowd of people. 




EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS, 17 

In hill, or dale, or in the foaming flood ; 
Thrall, 1 or at large, alive whereso I dwell, 
Sick, or in health, in evil fame or good, 

Her's will I be ; and only with this thought 
Content myself, although my chance be nought. 




COMPLAINT THAT HIS LADY, 

AFTER SHE IMW HTS LOVE, KEPT HER FACE 
ALWAYS HIDDEN FROItf HIM. 

NEVER saw my Lady lay apart 

Her cornet 2 black, in cold nor yet in 

heat, 
Sith first she knew my grief was grown 
so great ; 
Which other fancies driveth from my heart, 
That to myself I do the thought reserve, 
The which un wares did wound my woful breast ; 
But on her face mine eyes might never rest ; 
Yet, since she knew I did her love and serve, 
"^Her" golden tresses clad alway with black, 
Her smiling looks that hid thus evermore, 
And that restrains which I desire so sore. 
So doth this cornet govern me, alack ! ^f 

In summer, sun, in winter's breath, a frost ; 
Whereby the light of her fair looks I lost. 

1 In bondage. 

2 A head dress, with a hood or veil attached to it. 

C 




18 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 



REQUEST TO HIS LOVE TO JOIN BOUNTY 
WITH BEAUTY. 

[HE golden gift that Nature did thee 

give, ^ 
To fasten friends, and feed them at thy 

will,. 

With form and favour, taught me to believe, 
How thou art made to shew her greatest skill. 
Whose hidden virtues are not so unknown, 
But lively domes 1 might gather at the first 
Where beauty so her perfect seed hath sown, 
Of other graces follow needs there must. 
Now certes, Garret, 2 since all this is true, 
That from above thy gifts are thus elect, 
Do not deface them then with fancies new ; 
Nor change of minds, let not thy mind infect : 
But mercy him thy friend that doth thee serve, 
Who seeks alway thine honour to preserve. 

1 Judgments, or opinions. 

2 Dr. Nott observes, i( The first quarto and all the other 
editions, except the second and third quartos, read i Now 
certes, Lady.' Why the genuine reading given in the text 
should have ever been suppressed it is difficult to say. The 
Fitz-Gerald family almost always wrote their name Garret. 
The Fair Geraldine, when attending on the Princess Mary, 
was always called Garret : and she herself in her Will desig- 
nates her sister, the Lady Margaret Fitz-Gerald, ' The 
Lady Margaret Garret.' " 




EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 19 

PRISONED IN WINDSOR, HE RECOUNTETH 
HIS PLEASURE THERE PASSED. 

|0 cruel prison how could betide, alas, 
As proud Windsor ? where I, in lust 

and joy, 
With a King's son, my childish years 
did pass, 
In greater feast than Priam's sons of Troy. 
Where each sweet place returns a taste full sour. 
The large green courts, where we were wont to 

hove, 1 
With eyes cast up into the Maiden's tower, 
And easy sighs, such as folk draw in love. 
The stately seats, the ladies bright of hue. 
The dances short, long tales of great delight ; 
With words and looks that tigers could but rue ; 
Where each of us did plead the other's right. 
The palme-play, 2 where, despoiled for the game, 
With dazzled eyes oft we by gleams of love 
Have miss'd the ball, and got sight of our dame, 
To bait her eyes, which kept the leads above. 
The gravel'd ground, with sleeves tied on the helm, 
On foaming horse, with swords and friendly hearts; 
With chere, as though one should another whelm, 
Where we have fought, and chased oft with darts. 
With silver drops the mead yet spread for ruth, 
In active games of nimbleness and strength, 
Where we did strain, trained with swarms of youth. 
Our tender limbs, that yet shot up in length. 
1 Hover. 2 Tennis-comt. 



20 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 

The secret groves, which oft we made resound 
Of pleasant plaint, and of our ladies' praise ; 
Recording oft what grace each one had found, 
What hope of speed, what dread of long delays. 
The wild forest, the clothed holts with green ; 
With reins availed, and swift y-breathed horse, 
With cry of hounds, and merry blasts between, 
Where we did chase the fearful hart of force. 
The wide vales x eke, that harbour'd us each night : 
Wherewith, alas ! reviveth in my breast 
The sweet accord : such sleeps as yet delight ; 
The pleasant dreams, the quiet bed of rest ; 
The secret thoughts, imparted with such trust ; 
The wanton talk, the divers change of play ; 
The friendship sworn, each promise kept so just, 
Wherewith we past the winter night away. 
And with this thought the blood forsakes the face; 
The tears berain 2 my cheeks of deadly hue : 
The which, as soon as sobbing sighs, alas ! 
Up-supped have, thus I my plaint renew : 
i place of bliss ! renewer of my woes ! 
Give me account, where is my noble fere? 3 
Whom in thy walls thou dost each night enclose ; 
To other lief; 4 but unto me most dear.' 
Echo, alas ! that doth my sorrow rue, 
Returns thereto a hollow sound of plaint. 
Thus I alone, where all my freedom grew, 
In prison pine, with bondage and restraint : 
And with remembrance of the greater grief, 
To banish the less, I find my chief relief. 

1 According to Dr. Nott, this line in the Harrington MS. 
reads thus, 

The void walls eke, that harbour'd us each night. 

2 Bedew, as with rain. 3 Companion. 4 Endeared. 




EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 21 

THE LOVER COMFORTETH HIMSELF WITH 
THE WORTHINESS OF HIS LOVE. 

*HEN raging love with extreme pain 
Most cruelly distrains my heart ; 
When that my tears, as floods of rain, 
Bear witness of my woful smart; 

When sighs have wasted so my breath 

That I lie at the point of death : 

I call to mind the navy great 
That the Greeks brought to Troye town : 
And how the boisterous winds did beat 
Their ships, and rent their sails adown ; 
Till Agamemnon's daughter's blood 
Appeas'd the gods that them withstood. 

And how that in those ten years war 
Full many a bloody deed was done ; 
And many a lord that came full far, 
There caught his bane, alas ! too soon ; 
And many a good knight overrun, 
Before the Greeks had Helen won. 

Then think I thus : ' Sith such repair, 
So long time war of valiant men, 
Was all to win a lady fair, 
Shall I not learn to suffer then ? 



22 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 

And think my life well spent to be, 
Serving a worthier wight than she ?' 

Therefore I never will repent, 

But pains contented still endure ; 

For like as when, rough winter spent, 

The pleasant spring straight draweth in urc ; T 

So after raging storms of care, 

Joyful at length may be my fare. 




COMPLAINT OF THE ABSENCE OF HER 
LOVER BEING UPON THE SEA. 

HAPPY dames ! that may embrace 
The fruit of your delight ; 
Help to bewail the woful case, 
And eke the heavy plight 
Of me, that wonted to rejoice 
The fortune of my pleasant choice ; 
Good ladies ! help to fill my mourning voice. 

[ In ship, freight with remembrance 
Of thoughts and pleasures past, 
He sails that hath in governance 
My life, while it will last ; 
With scalding sighs, for lack of gale, 
Furthering his hope, that is his sail, 
Toward me, the sweet port of his avail. 
1 In use. 



EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 23 

Alas ! how oft in dreams I see 

Those eyes that were my food ; 

Which sometime so delighted me, 

That yet they do me good : 

Wherewith I wake with his return, 

Whose absent flame did make me burn : 

But when I find the lack, Lord ! how I mourn. 

When other lovers in arms across, 
Rejoice their chief delight • 
Drowned in tears, to mourn my loss, 
I stand the bitter night 
In my window, where I may see 
Before the winds how the clouds flee : 
Lo ! what mariner love hath made me. 

And in green waves, when the salt flood 

Doth rise by rage of wind ; 

A thousand fancies in that mood 

Assail my restless mind. 

Alas ! now drencheth 1 my sweet foe, 

That with the spoil of my heart did go, 

And left me ; but, alas ! why did he so ? 

And when the seas wax calm again, 
To chase from me annoy, 
My doubtful hope doth cause me plain ; 
So dread cuts off my joy. 
Thus is my wealth mingled with woe, 
And of each thought a doubt doth grow ; 
Now he comes ! will he come ? alas ! no, no ! 
1 Is drowned. 




24: EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 



COMPLAINT OF A DYING LOVER 

REFUSED UPON HIS LADY'S UNJUST MISTAKING OE 
HIS WHITING. 

|N winter's just return, when Boreas gan 
his reign, 
And every tree unclothed fast, as na- 
ture taught them plain : 
In misty morning dark, as sheep are then in hold, 
I hied me fast, it sat me on, my sheep for to unfold. 
And as it is a thing that lovers have by fits, 
Under a palm I heard one cry as he had lost his 

wits. 
Whose voice did ring so shrill in uttering of his 

plaint, 
That I amazed was to hear how love could him 

attaint. 
6 Ah ! wretched man/ quoth he ; ' come, death, 

and rid this woe ; 
A just reward, a happy end, if it may chance thee 

so. 
Thy pleasures past have wrought thy woe without 

redress ; 
If thou hadst never felt no joy, thy smart had been 

the less.' 
And reehless of his life, he gan both sigh and groan : 
A rueful thing me thought it was, to hear him 

make such moan. 



EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 25 

i Thou cursed pen, said lie, ' woe-worth the bird 

thee bare ; 
The man, the knife, and all that made thee, woe 

be to their share : 
Woe- worth the time and place where I so could 

indite ; 
And woe be it yet once again, the pen that so can 

write. 
Unhappy hand ! it had been happy time for me, 
If when to write thou learned first, unjointed 

hadst thou be.' 
Thus cursed he himself, and every other wight, 
Save her alone whom love him bound to serve 

both day and night. 
Which when I heard, and saw how he himself 

for-did; 1 
Against the ground with bloody strokes, himself 

e'en there to rid ; 
Had been my heart of flint, it must have melted 

tho'; 
For in my life I never saw a man so full of woe. 
With tears, for his redress, I rashly to him ran, 
And in my arms I caught him fast, and thus I 

spake him than : 
' What woful wight art thou, that in such heavy 

case 
Torments thyself with such despite, here in this 

desart place V 
Wherewith, as all aghast, fnlfilPd with ire and 

dread, 
He cast on me a staring look, with colour pale and 

dead : 

1 Destroy. 



ife 



26 

6 Nay, what art thou/ quoth he, ' that in this hea 1 

plight 
Dost find me here, most woful wretch, that lifV 

hath in despite ?' 
6 1 am,' quoth I, 6 but poor, and simple in degree 
A shepherd's charge I have in hand, unworthy 

though I be.' 
With that he gave a sigh, as though the sky should 

fall, 
And loud, alas ! he shrieked oft, and, ' Shepherd, 

gan he call, 
6 Come, hie thee fast at once, and print it in thy 

heart, 
So thou shalt know, and I shall tell thee, guiltless 

how I smart.' 
His back against the tree sore feebled all with faint, 
With weary sprite he stretcht him up, and thus he 

told his plaint : 
' Once in my heart,' quoth he, ( it chanced me to 

love 
Such one, in whom hath Nature wrought, her 

cunning for to prove. 
And sure I cannot say, but many years were spent, 
With such good will so recompens'd, as both we 

were content. 
Whereto then I me bound, and she likewise also, 
The sun should run his course awry, ere we this 

faith forego. 
Who joyed then but I ? who had this worldes bliss ? 
Who might compare a life to mine, that never 

thought on this ? 
But dwelling in this truth, amid my greatest joy, 
Is me befallen a greater loss than Priam had of Troy. 



earl or Surrey's poems. 27 

She is reversed clean, and beareth me in hand. 
That my deserts have given cause to break this 

faithful band : 
And for my just excuse availeth no defence. 
Now knowest thou all ; I can no more ; but, Shep- 
herd, hie thee hence, 
And give him leave to die, that may no longer live : 
Whose record, lo ! I claim to have, my death I do 

forgive. 
And eke when I am gone, be bold to speak it plain, 
Thou hast seen die the truest man that ever love 

did pain.' 
Wherewith he turned him round, and gasping oft 

for breath, 
Into his arms a tree he raught, and said : ( Wel- 
come my death ! 
Welcome a thousand fold, now dearer unto me 
Than should, without her love to live, an emperor 

to be.' 
Thus in this woful state he yielded up the ghost ; 
And little knoweth his lady, what a lover she hath 

lost. 
Whose death when I beheld, no marvel was it, right 
For pity though my heart did bleed, to see so 

piteous sight. 
My blood from heat to cold oft changed wonders 

sore; 
A thousand troubles there I found I never knew 

before : 
'Tween dread and dolour so my sprites were brought 

in fear, 
That long it was ere I could call to mind what I 

did there. 



28 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 

But as each thing hath end, so had these pains of 

mine : 
The furies past, and I my wits restor'd by length 

of time. 
Then, as I could devise, to seek I thought it best 
Where I might find some worthy place for such a 

corse to rest. 
And in my mind it came, from thence not far away, 
Where Cressid's love, king Priam's son, the wor- 
thy Troilus lay. 
By him I made his tomb, in token he was true, 
And, as to him belonged well, I covered it with blue. 
Whose soul by angels' power departed not so soon, 
But to the heavens, lo ! it fled, for to receive his 
doom. 



COMPLAINT OF THE ABSENCE OF HER 
LOYER, BEING UPON THE SEA. 

lOOD ladies ! ye that have your pleasures 
in exile, 
Step in your foot, come, take a place, 
and mourn with me awhile : 
And such as by their lords do set but little price, 
Let them sit still, it skills them not what chance 

come on the dice. 
But ye whom Love hath bound, by order of desire, 
To love your lords, whose good deserts none other 

would require ; 
Come ye yet once again, and set your foot by mine, 




EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 29 

Whose woful plight, and sorrows great, no tongue 

may well define. 
My love and lord, alas ! in whom consists my 

wealth, 
Hath fortune sent to pass the seas, in hazard of 

his health. 
Whom I was wont t'embrace with well contented 

mind, 
Is now amid the foaming floods at pleasure of the 

wind. 
Where God well him preserve, and soon him home 

me send ; 
Without which hope my life, alas ! were "shortly 

at an end. 
Whose absence yet, although my hope doth tell 

me plain, 
With short return he comes anon, yet ceaseth not 

my pain. 
The fearful dreams I have ofttimes do grieve me 

so, 
That when I wake, I lie in doubt, where they be 

true or no. 
Sometime the roaring seas, me seems, do grow so 

high, 
That my dear lord, ay me! alas ! methinks I see 

him die. 
Another time the same doth tell me, he is come, 
And playing, where I shall him find, with his fair 

little son. 1 

1 In the copy printed by Dr. "Rott from the Harrington 
MS. this line stands, 

" And playing, where I shall him find with T. his little son." 
which induces that writer to observe : u This proves the piece 



30 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 

So forth I go apace to see that liefsome sight, 
And with a kiss, methinks I say, ' Welcome, my 

lord, my knight ; 
Welcome, my sweet ; alas ! the stay of my welfare ; 
Thy presence bringeth forth a truce betwixt me 

and my care.' 
Then lively doth he look, and salueth me again, 
And saith, ' My dear, how is it now that you have 

all this pain ? ' 
Wherewith the heavy cares, that heap'd are in my 

breast, 
Break forth and me dischargen clean, of all my 

huge unrest. 
But when I me awake, and find it but a dream, 
The anguish of my former woe beginneth more 

extreme ; 
And me tormenteth so that unneath 1 may I find 
Some hidden place, wherein to slake the gnawing 

of my mind. 
Thus every way you see, with absence how I burn ; 
And for my wound no cure I find, but hope of 

good return : 
Save when I think, by sour how sweet is felt the 

more, 
It doth abate some of my pains, that I abode before. 
And then unto myself I say : ' When we shall 

meet, 

to have been written, not as an exercise of fancy, but for some 
existing person." If this conjecture be correct, the Com- 
plainant may have been intended for Lady Surrey, and li T. 
his little son," for Thomas her eldest son, afterwards Duke 
of Norfolk. 

1 With difficulty. 



EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. * 31 

But little while shall seem this pain ; the joy shall 

be so sweet.' 
Ye winds, I you conjure, in chiefest of your rage, 
That ye my lord me safely send, my sorrows to 

assuage. 
And that I may not long abide in this excess, 
Do your good will to cure a wight, that liveth in 

distress. 




A PRAISE OF HIS LOVE, 

WHEREIN HE REPROVETH THEM THAT COMPARE 
THEIR LADIES WITH HIS. 

IYE place, ye lovers, here before 
That spent your boasts and brags in vain ; 
My Lady's beauty passeth more 
The best of yours, I dare well say en, 
Than doth the sun the candle light, 
Or brightest day the darkest night. 

And thereto hath a troth as just 
As had Penelope the fair ; 
For what she saith, ye may it trust, 
As it by writing sealed were : 
And virtues hath she many moe 
Than I with pen have skill to show. 

I could rehearse, if that I would, 
The whole effect of Nature's plaint, 



32 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 

When she had lost the perfect mould, 
The like to whom she could not paint : 
With wringing hands, how she did cry, 
And what she said, I know it, I. 

I know she swore with raging mind, 
Her kingdom only set apart, 
There was no loss, by law of kind, 
That could have gone so near her heart ; 
And this was chiefly all her pain : 
6 She could not make the like again.' 

Sith Nature thus gave her the praise, 
To be the chief est work she wrought ; 
In faith, methink ! some better ways 
On your behalf might well be sought, 
Than to compare, as ye have done, 
To match the candle with the sun. 



TO HIS MISTRESS. 1 

i¥ he that erst the form so lively drew 
Of Venus' face, triumph'd in painter's 

art ; 
Thy Father then what glory did ensue, 
By whose pencil a Goddess made thou art. 
Touched with flame that figure made some rue, 
And with her love surprised many a heart. 
There lack'd yet that should cure their hot desire : 
Thou canst inflame and quench the kindled fire. 

1 Printed for the first time by Dr. Nott, from a MS. in the 
possession of Mr. Hill. 





EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 33 

TO THE LADY THAT SCORNED HER 
LOVER. 

LTHOUGH I had a check, 
To give the mate is hard ; 
For I have found a neck, 1 
To keep my men in guard. 

And you that hardy are, 

To give so great assay 

Unto a man of war, 

To drive his men away ; 

I rede 2 you take good heed, 
And mark this foolish verse ; 
For I will so provide, 
That I will have your ferse. 3 
And when your ferse is had, 
And all your war is done ; 
Then shall yourself be glad 
To end that you begun. 

For if by chance I win 
Your person in the field ; 
Too late then come you in 
Yourself to me to yield. 
For I will use my power, 
As captain full of might ; 
And such I will devour, 
As use to shew me spite. 

1 A nook. 2 Counsel, advise. 

3 The Queen at Chess. 

D 



34 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 

And for because you gave 
Me check in such degree ; 
This vantage, lo ! I have, 
Now check, and guard to thee. 
Defend it if thou may ; 
Stand stiff in thine estate : 
For sure I will assay, 
If I can give thee mate. 



A WARNING TO THE LOVER, HOW HE IS 

ABUSED BY HIS LOVE. 

§ 00 dearly had I bought my green and 
youthful years, 
If in mine age I could not find when 
craft for love appears. 
And seldom though I come in court among the 

rest, 
Yet can I judge in colours dim, as deep as can the 

best. 
Where grief torments the man that suff'reth secret 

smart, 
To break it forth unto some friend, it easeth well 

the heart. 
So stands it now with me, for, my beloved friend, 
This case is thine, for whom I feel such torment 

of my mind. 
And for thy sake I burn so in my secret breast, 
That till thou know my whole disease, my heart 
can have no rest, 




EAUL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 35 

I see how thine abuse hath wrested so thy wits, 
That all it yields to thy desire, and follows thee 

by fits. 
Where thou hast loved so long, with heart, and all 

thy power, 
I see thee fed with feigned words, thy freedom to 

devour : 
I know (though she say nay, and would it well 

withstand) 
When in her grace thou held thee most, she bare 

thee but in hand. 
I see her pleasant chere in chiefest of thy suit ; 
When thou art gone, I see him come that gathers 

up the fruit. 
And eke in thy respect, I see the base degree 
Of him to whom she gave the heart, that promised 

was to thee. 
I see, (what would you more,) stood never man so 

sure 
On woman's word, but wisdom would mistrust it 

to endure. 





36 earl or surret\s poems. 



THE FORSAKEN LOVER DESCRIBETH AND 
FORSAKETH LOVE. 

LOATHSOME place ! where I 
Have seen, and heard my dear ; 
When in my heart her eye 
Hath made her thought appear, 

By glimpsing with such grace, — 

As fortune it ne would 

That lasten any space, 

Between us longer should. 

As fortune did advance 
To further my desire; 
Even so hath fortune's chance 
Thrown all amidst the mire. 
And that I have deserved, 
With true and faithful heart, 
Is to his hands reserved, 
That never felt the smart. 

But happy is that man 
That scaped hath the grief, 
That love well teach him can, 
By wanting his relief. 
A scourge to quiet minds 
It is, w r ho taketh heed ; 
A common plage that binds ; 
A travail without meed. 



EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 87 

This gift it hath also : 
Whoso enjoys it most, 
A thousand troubles grow, 
To vex his wearied ghost. 
And last it may not long ; 
The truest thing of all : 
And sure the greatest wrong, 
That is within this thrall. 

But since thou, desert place, 
Canst give me no account 
Of my desired grace, 
That I to have was wont ; 
Farewell ! thou hast me taught, 
To think me not the first 
That love hath set aloft, 
And casten in the dust. 



THE LOVEK DESCBIBETH HIS BEST- 
LESS STATE. 1 

S oft as I behold, and see 
The sovereign beauty that me bound ; 
The higher my comfort is to me, 
Alas ! the fresher is my wound. 

As flame doth quench by rage of fire, 
And running streams consume by rain ; 

1 The 3rd, 6th, and 8th stanzas do not occur in Tottel's 
collection, but were supplied by Dr. Nott from a copy in the 
<£ Xugae Autiquae." 




38 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 

So doth the sight that I desire 
Appease my grief, and deadly pain. 

Like as the fly that seeth the flame, 
And thinks to play her in the fire ; 
That found her woe, and sought her game 
Where grief did grow by her desire. 

First when I saw those crystal streams, 
Whose beauty made my mortal wound ; 
I little thought within their beams 
So sweet a venom to have found. 

But wilful will did prick me forth, 
And blind Cupid did whip and guide ; 
Force made me take my grief in worth ; 1 
My fruitless hope my harm did hide ; 

Wherein is hid the cruel bit, 
Whose sharp repulse none can resist ; 
And eke the spur that strains each wit 
To run the race against his list. 

As cruel waves full oft be found 
Against the rocks to roar and cry ; 
So doth my heart full oft rebound 
Against my breast full bitterly. 

And as the spider draws her line, 
With labour lost I frame my suit ; 
The fault is her's, the loss is mine : 
Of ill sown seed, such is the fruit. 

1 Patiently. 



EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 39 

I fall, and see mine own decay ; 
As he that bears flame in his breast, 
Forgets for pain to cast away 
The thing that breedeth his unrest. 1 



THE LOVER EXCUSETH HIMSELF OF 
SUSPECTED CHANGE. 

'HOUGH I regarded not 
The promise made by me ; 
Or passed not to spot 
My faith and honesty : 

Yet were my fancy strange, 

And wilful will to wite, 2 

If I sought now to change 

A falcon for a kite. 

All men might well dispraise 
My wit and enterprise, 
If I esteemed a pese 3 
Aboye a pearl in price : 
Or judged the owl in sight 
The sparhawk to excel ; 

1 In Tottel's collection this stanza is thus printed — 

I fall and see mine own decay. 

As one that bears flame in his breast ; 

Forgets in pain to put away 

The thing that breedeth mine unrest. 

2 To censure. 3 A pea. 




40 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 

Which flieth but in the night, 
As all men know right well. 

Or if I sought to sail 
Into the brittle port, 
Where anchor hold doth fail 
To such as do resort; 
And leave the haven sure, 
Where blows no blustering wind ; 
Nor fickleness in ure, 1 
So far-forth as I find. 

No ! think me not so light, 
Nor of so churlish kind, 
Though it lay in my might 
My bondage to unbind, 
That I would leave the hind 
To hunt the gander's foe. 2 
No ! no ! I have no mind 
To make exchanges so. 

Nor yet to change at all ; 
For think, it may not be 
That I should seek to fall 
From my felicity. 
Desirous for to win, 
And loth for to forego ; 
Or new change to begin ; 
How may all this be so ? 

The fire it cannot freeze, 
For it is not his kind ; 

1 Practise. 2 The fox. 






EAEL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 41 

Nor true love cannot lese x 
The Constance of the mind. 
Yet as soon shall the fire 
Want heat to blaze and burn ; 
As I, in such desire, 
Have once a thought to turn. 




A CARELESS MAN 

SCOENING AND DESCEIBING THE SUBTLE USAGE OF 
WOMEN TOWAED THEIE LOVEES. 

RAPT in my careless cloak, as I walk 
to and fro, 
I see how Love can shew what force 
there reigneth in his bow: 
And how he shooteth eke a hardy heart to wound ; 
And where he glanceth by again, that little hurt 

is found. 
For seldom is it seen he woundeth hearts alike; 
The one may rage, when Mother's love is often far 

to seek. 
All this I see, with more ; and wonder thinketh me 
How he can strike the one so sore, and leave the 

other free. 
I see that wounded wight that suffreth all this 

wrong, 
How he is fed with yeas and nays, and liveth all 
too long. 

1 Lose. 



42 



EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 



In silence though I keep such secrets to myself, 
Yet do I see how she sometime doth yield a look 

by stealth, 
As though it seem'd ; ' I wis, I will not lose thee 

so:' 
When in her heart so sweet a thought did never 

truly grow. 
Then say I thus : ' Alas ! that man is far from bliss, 
That doth receive for his relief none other gain 

but this.' 
And she, that feeds him so, I feel and find it plain. 
Is but to glory in her power, that over such can 

reign. 
Nor are such graces spent, but when she thinks, 

that he, 
A wearied man, is fully bent such fancies to let flee 
Then to retain him still, she wrasteth new her grace, 
And smileth, lo ! as though she would forthwith 

the man embrace. 
But when the proof is made to try such looks withal, 
He findeth then the place all void, and freighted 

full of gall. 
Lord ! what abuse is this ; who can such women 

praise, 
That for their glory do devise to use such crafty 

ways ? 
I, that among the rest do sit and mark the row, 
Find that in her is greater craft, than is in twenty 

mo' : 
Whose tender years, alas ! with wiles so well are 

sped, 
What will she do when hoary hairs are powder'd 

in her head?. 




EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 48 



AN" ANSWER IN THE BEHALF OF A 
WOMAN. 

OE AN TTNCEETAOT ATJTHOK. 1 

|IRT in my guiltless gown, as I sit here 
and sow, 
I see that things are not in deed, as to 
the outward show. 
And who so list to look and note things somewhat 

near, 
Shall find where plainness seems to haunt, nothing 

but craft appear. 
For with indifferent eyes myself can well discern, 
How some to guide a ship in storms stick not 2 to 

take the. stern • 
Whose skill and courage tried 3 in calm to steer a 

barge, 
They would soon shew, you should foresee, 4 it were 

too great a charge. 
And some I see again sit still and say but small, 

1 This poem was printed as in the text by Dr. Nott, from 
the Harrington MS., which alone contains the last eighteen 
lines. The variations between that copy and the printed edi- 
tions are pointed out in the notes. The remark in Tottel's 
Collection that it was by (c an uncertain author" justifies a 
doubt whether it was written by Surrey. It is there entitled 
" Of the Dissembling Lover." 

2 seek for. 3 Whose practice if were proved. 
4 Assuredly believe it well. 



44 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 

That can 1 do ten times more than they that say 

they can do all. 
Whose goodly gifts are such, the more they un- 
derstand, 
The more they seek to learn and know, and take 

less charge in hand. 
And to declare more plain, the time flits not so 

fast, 
But I can bear right 2 well in mind the song now 

sung, and past; 
The author whereof came, wrapt in a crafty cloak, 
In 3 will to force a flaming fire where he could 

raise no smoke. 
If power and will had met, 4 as it appeareth plain, 
The 5 truth nor right had ta'en no place ; their 

virtues had been vain. 
So that you may perceive, and I may safely see, 
The innocent that guiltless is, condemned should 

have be. 
Much like untruth to this the story doth declare, 
Where the Elders laid to Susan's charge meet 

matter to compare. 
They did her both accuse, and eke condemn her 

too, 
And yet no reason, right, nor truth, did lead them 

so to do ! 
And she thus judg'd to die, toward her death went 

forth, 
Fraughted with faith, a patient pace, taking her 

wrong in worth. 
But He that doth defend all those that in him trust, 

1 could 2 full. 3 With. 4 join'd. 5 Then. 



earl of Surrey's poems. 45 

Did raise a child for her defence to shield her from 

th' unjust. 
And Daniel chosen was then of his wrong to 

weet, 
How, in what place, and eke with whom she did 

this crime commit. 
He caused the Elders part the one from th' other's 

sight, 
And did examine one by one, and charg'd them 

both say right. 
( Under a mulberry tree it was ;' first said the one. 
The next named a pomegranate tree, whereby the 

truth was known. 
Then Susan was discharg'd, and they condemn'd 

to die, 
As right requir'd, and they deserv'd, that fram'd 

so foul a lie. 
And He that her preserv'd, and lett them of their 

lust, 
Hath me defended hitherto, and will do still I trust. 



THE CONSTANT LOVER LAMENTETH. 

^INCE fortune's wrath envieth the wealth 
Wherein I reigned, by the sight 
Of that, that fed mine eyes by stealth 
With sour, sweet, dread, and delight ; 

Let not my grief move you to moan, 

For I will weep and wail alone. 




46 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 

Spite drave me into Boreas' reign, 1 
Where hoary frosts the fruits do bite, 
When hills were spread, and every plain 
With stormy winter's mantle white ; 
And yet, my dear, such was my heat, 
When others froze, then did I sweat. 

And now, though on the sun I drive, 
Whose fervent flame all things decays ; 
His beams in brightness may not strive 
With light of your sweet golden rays; 
Nor from my breast this heat remove 
The frozen thoughts, graven by Love. 

Ne may the waves of the salt flood 
Quench that your beauty set on fire ; 
For though mine eyes forbear the food, 
That did relieve the hot desire ; 
Such as I was, such will I be ; 
Your own ; what would ye more of me ? 

1 Her anger drove me into a colder climate 




EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 47 

A SONG WEITTEN BY THE EAEL OF 
SUBKEY, 

OP A LADY THAT EEETTSED TO DA^CE WITH HIM. 1 

i^ACH beast can choose his fere accord- 
ing to his mind, 
And eke can shew a friendly chere, 
like to their beastly kind. 
A Lion saw I late, as white as any snow, 
Which seemed well to lead the race, his port the 

same did show. 
Upon the gentle beast to gaze it pleased me, 
For still me thought he seemed well of noble blood 
to be. 

1 Dr. Xott's remark on this piece, " That it is valuable 
from the circumstance of its preserving an account of a quar- 
rel between Surrey and the fair Geraldine, which, as we hear 
nothing of any reconciliation afterwards, was the occasion 
probably of his renouncing his ill-fated passion," is an 
amusing instance of first imagining a fact, and then making 
every circumstance support it. The learned editor, as in 
most other instances, assumes that Geraldine was the subject 
of the poem, without a shadow of evidence ; and gratuitously 
gives it this title — " Surrey renounces all affection for the fair 
Geraldine," whereas, in ail the printed editions, it bears the 
title assigned to it in the text. There is no doubt that 
Surrey personated himself by the "White Lion," which was 
one of the badges (and not the arms, as Dr. Xott asserts) of 
the house of Howard, derived from their descent from the 
Mowbrays, Dukes of Norfolk. The word " pranceth " in line 
7, alluded to the position "rampant" of the animal, and 



48 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 

And as he pranced before, still seeking for a make, 
As who would say, ' There is none here, I trow, 

will me forsake.' 
I might perceive a Wolf as white as whalesbone ; 
A fairer beast of fresher hue, beheld I never none; 
Save that her looks were coy, and froward eke her 

grace : 
Unto the which this gentle beast 'gan him advance 

apace. 
And with a beck full low he bowed at her feet, 
In humble wise, as who would say, ( I am too far 

unmeet.' 
But such a scornful chere, wherewith she him re- 
warded ! 
Was never seen, I trow, the like, to such as well 

deserved. 
With that she start aside well near a foot or twain, 
And unto him thus 'gan she say, with spite and 

great disdain : 

perhaps a playful reference was intended to Surrey's invita- 
tion to the lady to dance. But there is not any reason to 
presume that by the Wolf the fair Geraldine was intended, 
though it is almost certain that the family of the lady ad- 
verted to bore that animal on their standards, or in their 
arms. Dr. Nott has cited a MS. in the Museum to prove 
that the Fitzgeralds, Earls of Kildare, used a Wolf as their 
crest, but this is unsupported by any other authority, and 
Drayton, with more probability, says, that the lady meant 
by the " Wolf," was Ann, the daughter of Sir Edward Stan- 
hope, who became the wife of the Protector Somerset. The 
Stanhope family once used a Wolf as their crest, in conse- 
quence of their descent from Maulovel, and a Wolf is still one 
of the supporters of the Earls of Chesterfield, Stanhope, and 
Harrington. See Collins' Peerage, ed. 1779, iii. 301, 302. 
It is proper to add, that the family of Arundell of Lanhearne > 
in Cornwall, bore a white wolf as a badge. 



EARL OF SURREY S POEMS. 49 

1 Lion/ she said, ' if thou hadst known my mind 

before. 
Thou hadst not spent thy travail thus, nor all thy 

pain for-lore. 
Do way ! I let thee weet, 1 thou shalt not play with 

me : 
Go range about, where thou mayst find some 

meeter fere for thee.' 
With that he beat his tail, his eyes began to flame; 
I might perceive his noble heart much moved by 

the same. 
Yet saw I him refrain, and eke his wrath assuage, 
And unto her thus 'gan he say, when he was past 

his rage : 
* Cruel ! you do me wrong, to set me thus so light ; 
Without desert for my good will to shew me such 

despite. 
How can ye thus intreat a Lion of the race, 
That with his paws a crowned king devoured in 

the place. 2 
Whose nature is to prey upon no simple food, 
As long as he may suck the flesh, and drink of 

noble blood. 
If you be fair and fresh, am I not of your hue ? 3 
And for my vaunt I dare well say, my blood is 

not untrue. 



1 I let thee know. 

2 Apparently an allusion to the defeat and death of James 
the Fourth at Flodden Field, by Thomas, then Earl of 
Surrey, the Poet's grandfather. 

3 Query, is it to be understood by this line that Surrey was 
related to the lady, or did he only mean that his lion was of 
the same hue as her wolf ? 



50 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 

For you yourself have heard, it is not long ago, 
Sith that for love one of the race did end his life 

in woe, 
In tower strong and high, for his assured truth, 
Whereas in tears he spent his breath, alas ! the 

more the ruth. 
This gentle beast so died, whom nothing could 

remove, 
But willingly to lese his life for loss of his true 

love. 1 
Other there be whose lives do linger still in pain, 
Against their wills preserved are, that would have 

died fain. 
But now I do perceive that nought it moveth you, 
My good intent, my gentle heart, nor yet my kind 

so true. 
But that your will is such to lure me to the trade, 



1 Dr. Nott observes: u This means Thomas- Howard, se- 
cond son of Thomas second Duke of Norfolk, by Agnes his 
second wife, and consequently half uncle to Surrey. He 
was attainted of high treason, and committed to the Tower, 
in June 1538, for having, without the knowledge or appro- 
bation of King Henry VIII, affianced himself to the Lady 
Margaret Douglas, daughter of Margaret Queen of Scot- 
land, the King's sister. Lord Thomas Howard remained in 
confinement till his decease on Allhallows Eve, 1538. 
Upon his death the Lad}' Margaret, who had been con- 
fined likewise, was set at liberty. It is probable that 
this unfortunate affiance was the effect on the part of 
Lord Thomas Howard, as well as on the part of the Lady 
Margaret, of real attachment, and not of ambition. Had 
he relinquished all claim to her hand, he probably would 
have been released from his confinement. It is likely 
therefore that his love, r-s Surrey intimates, really cost him 
his life." 



51 

As other some full many years to trace by craft ye 

made. 
And thus behold our kinds, how that we differ far ; 
I seek my foes ; and you your friends do threaten 

still with war, 
I fawn where I am fled ; you slay, that seeks to 

you; 
I can devour no yielding prey ; you kill where 

you subdue. 
My kind is to desire the honour of the field ; 
And you with blood to slake your thirst on such 

as to you yield. 
Wherefore I would you wist, that for your coyed 

looks, 
I am no man that will be trapp'd, nor tangled 

with such hooks. 
And though some lust to love, where blame full 

well they might ; 
And to such beasts of current sought, that should 

have travail bright ; 
I will observe the law that Nature gave to me, 
To conquer such as will resist, and let the rest go 

free. 
And as a falcon free, that soareth in the air, 
Which never fed on hand nor lure ; nor for no 

stale 1 doth care ; 
While that I live and breathe, such shall my cus- 
tom be 
In w^ildness of the woods to seek my prey, where 

pleaseth me ; 



1 A piece of meat used to allure falcons back to their 
master. 



52 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 

Where many one shall rue, that never made 

offence : 
Thus your refuse against my power shall boot 

them no defence. 
And for revenge thereof I vow and swear thereto, 
A thousand spoils I shall commit I never thought 

to do. 
And if to light on you my luck so good shall be, 
I shall be glad to feed on that, that would have 

fed on me. 
And thus farewell, Unkind, to whom I bent and 

bow ; 
I would you wist, the ship is safe that bare his 

sails so low. 
Sith that a Lion's heart is for a Wolf no prey, 
With bloody mouth go slake your thirst on simple 

sheep, I say, 
With more despite and ire than I can now express ; 
Which to my pain though I refrain, the cause you 

may well guess. 
As for because myself was author of the game, 
It boots me not that for my wrath I should disturb 

the same/ 



earl of Surrey's poems. 53 




THE FAITHFUL LOVER 

DECLAEETH HIS PAINS AND HIS UNCERTAIN JOYS, 

AND WITH ONLY HOPE KEC03IFORTETH 

SOMEWHAT HIS WOEFUL HEAET. 

F care do cause men cry, why do not I 
complain ? 
If each man do bewail his woe, why 
shew I not my pain ? 
Since that amongst them all, I dare well say is none 
So far from weal, so full of woe, or hath more 

cause to moan. 
For all things having life, sometime hath quiet rest; 
The bearing ass, the drawing ox, and every other 

beast ; 
The peasant and the post, that serve at all assays ; 
The ship-boy and the galley-slave, have time to 

take their ease ; 
Save I, alas ! whom care, of force doth so constrain, 
To wail the day, and wake the night, continually 

in pain. 
From pensiveness to plaint, from plaint to bitter 

tears, 
From tears to painful plaint again ; and thus my 

life it wears. 
No thing under the sun, that I can hear or see, 
But moveth me for to bewail my cruel destiny. 



54 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 

For where men do rejoice, since that I cannot so, 
I take no pleasure in that place, it doubleth but 

my woe. 
And when I hear the sound of song or instrument, 
Methink each tune there doleful is, and helps me 

to lament. 
And if I see some have their most desired sight, 
' Alas ! ' think I, ' each man hath weal save I, most 

woful wight.' 
Then as the stricken deer withdraws himself alone, 
So do I seek some secret place, where I may make 

my moan. 
There do my flowing eyes shew forth my melting 

heart ; 
So that the streams of those two wells right well 

declare my smart. 
And in those cares so cold, I force myself a heat 
(As sick men in their shaking fits procure them- 
selves to sweat) 
With thoughts, that for the time do much appease 

my pain : 
But yet they cause a farther fear, and breed my 

woe again. 
Methink within my thought I see right plain ap- 
pear 
My heart's delight, my sorrow's leech, mine earthly 

goddess here, 
With every sundry grace, that I have seen her have, 
Thus I within my woful breast her picture paint 

and grave. 

And in my thought I roll her beauties to and fro ; 
Her laughing chere, her lovely look, my heart that 

pierced so. 



55 

Her strangeness when I sued her servant for to be ; 
And what she said, and how she smiled, when 

that she pitied me. 
Then comes a sudden fear that riveth 1 all my rest, 
Lest absence cause forgetfulness to sink within her 

breast. 
For when I think how far this earth doth us divide, 
Alas ! me-seems love throws me down ; I feel how 

that I slide. 
But then I think again, 'Why should I thus mistrust 
So sweet a wight, so sad and wise, that is so true 

and just ? 
For loath she was to love, and wavering is she not ; 
The farther off the more desired/ Thus lovers 

tie their knot. 
So in despair and hope plung'd am I both up and 

down, 
As is the ship with wind and wave, when Neptune 

list to frown : 
But as the watery showers delay the raging wind, 
So doth Good-hope clean put away despair out of 

my mind ; 
And bids me for to serve, and suffer patiently : 
For what wot I the after weal that fortune wills 

to me. 
For those that care do know, and tasted have of 

trouble, 
When passed is their woful pain,, each joy shall 

seem them double. 
And bitter sends she now, to make me taste the 

better 

1 To tear, to rend asunder. 



56 



EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 



The pleasant sweet, when that it comes, to make 
it seem the sweeter. 

And so determine I to serve until my breath ; 

Yea, rather die a thousand times, than once to 
false my faith. 

And if my feeble corpse, through weight of woful 
smart 

Do fail, or faint, my will it is that still she keep 
my heart. 

And when this carcass here to earth shall be re- 
far'd, 1 

I do bequeath my wearied ghost to serve her after- 
ward. 



THE MEANS TO ATTAIN HAPPY LIFE. 




ARTIAL, the things that do attain 
The happy life, be these, I find : 
The riches left, not got with pain ; 
The fruitful ground, the quiet mind : 



The equal friend, no grudge, no strife ; 
No charge of rule, nor governance ; 
Without disease, the healthful life ; 
The household of continuance : 



The mean 2 diet, no delicate 3 fare ; 
True wisdom join'd with simpleness ; 

1 Tefeired, to bring back. 2 Moderate. 

3 Dainty, in one MS. 



EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 57 

The night discharged of all care, 
Where wine the wit may not oppress : 

The faithful wife, without debate ; 
Such sleeps as may beguile the night : 
Contented with thine own estate ; 
Ne w T ish for death, ne fear his might. 



PRAISE OF MEAN AND CONSTANT 
ESTATE. 

\F thy life, Thomas, 1 this compass well 
mark : 
Not aye with full sails the high seas to 
beat 5 

Ne by coward dread, in shunning storms dark, 
On shallow shores thy keel in peril freat. 2 

Whoso gladly halseth 3 the golden mean, 
Void of dangers advisedly hath his home ; 
Not with loathsome muck as a den unclean, 
Nor palace like, whereat disdain may glome. 4 

The lofty pine the great wind often rives ; 
With violenter sway fallen turrets steep ; 
Lightnings assault the high mountains and clives. 5 
A. heart well stay'd, in overthwartes 6 deep. 

1 Sir Thomas Wyatt. 2 Damage. 

3 Embraceth. 4 Look at scornfully. 

5 Steep cliffs. 6 Adverse fortunes. 







58 earl of Surrey's poems. 

Hopeth amends : in sweet, doth fear the sour. 
God that sendeth, withdraweth winter sharp. 
Now ill, not aye thus : once Phoebus to low'r, 
With bow unbent, shall cease and frame to harp 

His voice ; in strait estate appear thou stout ; 
And so wisely, when lucky gale of wind 
All thy puft sails shall fill, look well about ; 
Take in a reef : haste is waste, proof doth find. 



PRAISE OF CERTAIN PSALMS OF DAVID, 

TRANSLATED BY SIR THOMAS [WYATT] 
THE ELDER. 

HE great Macedon, that out of Persia 
chased 
p^J P<b^ Darius, of whose huge power all Asia 
«^^<4^l rung ; 

In the rich ark 1 Dan Homer's rhymes he placed, 
Who feigned gests 2 of heathen princes sung. 
What holy grave, what worthy sepulture, 
To Wyatt's PSalms should Christians then pur- 
chase ? 
Where he doth paint the lively faith,, and pure, 
The steadfast hope, the sweet return to grace, 
Of just David, by perfect penitence ; 
Y/here rulers may see in a mirror clear, 

1 Chest. 2 Heroic deeds. 



. EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 59 

The bitter fruit of false concupiscence ; 

How Jewry bought Urias' death full dear. 

In Princes' hearts God's scourge imprinted deep, 
Ought them awake out of their sinful sleep. 1 



OF THE DEATH OF SIR THOMAS WYATT. 
H IYERS thy death do diversely bemoan : 




* Lurked, whose breasts envy with hate 

=§liS££> had swoln, 

Yield Cassar's tears upon Pompeius' head. 
Some, that watched with the murd'rer's knife, 
With eager thirst to drink thy guiltless blood, 
Whose practice brake by happy end of life, 
With envious tears to hear thy fame so good. 
But I, that knew what harbour'd in that head ; 
What virtues rare were tempered in that breast ; 
Honour the place that such a jewel bred, 
And kiss the ground whereas the corpse doth rest; 

With vapour'd eyes : from whence such streams 
availe, 3 

As Pyramus did on Thisbe's breast bewail. 

1 Mr. Warton thinks that "probably the last lines may 
contain an oblique allusion to some of the amours of King 
Henry VIII." 

2 Being alive. 3 Fall down, 




60 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 



OF THE SAME. 

\ YATT resteth here, that quick l could 

never rest : 
Whose heavenly gifts increased by 

disdain ; 

And virtue sank the deeper in his breast : 
Such profit he by envy could obtain. 
A head, where wisdom mysteries did frame ; 
Whose hammers beat still in that lively brain, 
As on a stithe, 2 where that some work of fame 
W^as daily wrought, to turn to Britain's gain. 
A visage, stern and mild ; where both did grow 
Vice to contemn, in virtue to rejoice : 
Amid great storms, whom grace assured so, 
To live upright, and smile at Fortune's choice. 
A hand, that taught what might be said in rhyme; 
That reft Chaucer the glory of his wit. 
A mark, the which (unperfected for time) 
Some may approach, but never none shall hit. 
A tongue, that serv'd in foreign realms his king ; 
Whose courteous talk to virtue did inflame 
Each noble heart ; a worthy guide to bring 
Our English youth, by travail, unto fame. 
An eye, whose judgment none affect 3 could blind, 
Friends to allure, and foes to reconcile ; 
Whose piercing look did represent a mind 
With virtue fraught, reposed, void of guile. 
A heart, where dread was never so imprest 
To hide the thought that might the truth advance; 

1 Alive. 2 Forge, or anvil. 3 Passion. 



EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 61 

In neither fortune loft/ nor yet represt, 

To swell in wealth, or yield unto mischance. 

A valiant corpse, where force and beauty met : 

Happy, alas ! too happy, but for foes, 

Lived, and ran the race that Nature set ; 

Of manhood's shape, where she the mould did lose. 

But to the heavens that simple soul is fled, 

Which left, with such as covet Christ to know, 

Witness of faith, that never shall be dead ; 

Sent for our health, but not received so. 

Thus, for our guilt this jewel have we lost ; 

The earth his bones, the heavens possess his ghosl. 



OF THE SAME. 

^N the rude age, when knowledge was 
not rife, 
If Jove in Crete, and other w 7 ere that 
taught 

Arts, to convert to profit of our life, 
Wend after death to have their temples sought : 
If, Virtue yet no void unthankful time 
Failed of some to blast her endless fame ; 
(A goodly mean both to deter from crime, 
And to her steps our sequel to inflame) 
In days of truth if Wyatt's friends then wail 
(The only debt that dead of quick may claim) 
That rare wit spent, employ'd to our avail, 
Where Christ is taught, we led to Virtue's train. 
His lively face their breasts how did it freat, 
Whose cinders yet with envy they do eat. 
1 Elevated, 




62 earl of Surrey's poems. 







AN EPITAPH ON CLERE, 
surrey's faithetjl friend and follower. 1 

^S^ffi^S ORFOLK sprung thee, Lambeth holds 

thee dead ; 
Clere, of the Count of Cleremont, thou 

hight ! 

Within the womb of Ormond's race thou bred, 
And saw'st thy cousin crowned in thy sight. 
Shelton for love, Surrey for lord thou chase f 
(Aye, me ! whilst life did last that league was tender) 

1 These lines were inscribed, with the epitaph above, on 
a table in Lambeth Church : 

"Epitaphium. Thomae Clere, qui fato functus est 1545, 
auctore Henrico Howard, Comite Surrey. In cujus faelicis 
ingenii specimen, et singularis facundiae argumentum, ap- 
pensa faut haec Tabula per W. Howard, filiura Thomae 
rmper Ducis Norfolciensis, filii ejusdem Henrici Comitis." 

This epitaph occurs, with some trifling variations, in 
Camden's Remains, Aubrey's History of Surrey, v. 247, and 
in Bloomfield's Norfolk. Thomas Clere was the youngest 
son of Sir Robert Clere, of Ormesby in Norfolk, (the descen- 
dant of Clere, of Cleremont in Normandy) by Alice, daughter 
of Sir William Boleyn, by Margaret, daughter and coheir of 
Thomas Boteler, Earl of Ormond. He was consequently 
first "cousin" of Queen Anne Boleyn, whom "he saw 
crowned " in 1533, and was connected with " Ormond's race." 
" Shelton" is presumed to have been a daughter of Sir John 
Shelton, of Shelton in Norfolk, but it does not appear that 
Clere married her. He died on the 14th of April, 1545, and 
was buried at Lambeth. These facts explain most of the 
allusions in the epitaph, and the others are noticed in the 
Memoir of Surrey. 

2 Didst choose, 



EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 63 

Tracing whose steps thou sawest Kelsal blaze, 
Landrecy burnt, and batter'd Boulogne render. x 
At Montreuil gates, hopeless of all recure, 2 
Thine Earl, half dead, gave in thy hand his will ; 
Which cause did thee this pining death procure, 
Ere summers four times seven thou couldst fulfill. 
Ah ! Clere ! if love had booted care or cost, 
Heaven had not won, nor earth so timely lost. 



OF SARDANAPALUS'S DISHONORABLE 
LIFE AND MISERABLE DEATH. 

^ pryf H' Assyrian king, in peace, with foul 
desire 




* And filthy lusts that stain'd his regal 
heart ; 

In w T ar, that should set princely hearts on fire, 
Did yield, vanquisht for want of martial art. 
The dint of swords from kisses seemed strange ; 
And harder than his lady's side, his targe : 3 
From glutton feasts to soldier's fare, a change ; 
His helmet, far above a garland's charge : 
Who scarce the name of manhood did retain, 
Drenched in sloth and womanish delight : 
Feeble of spirit, impatient of pain, 
When he had lost his honour, and his right, 

(Proud time of wealth, in storms appalled with 
dread,) 

Murder 'd himself, to shew r some manful deed. 

1 Surrender. ~ Recovery. 3 Shield. 



64 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 




HOW NO AGE IS CONTENT 

WITH HIS OWN ESTATE, AND HOW THE AGE OF 

CHILDREN IS THE HAPPIEST IE THEY HAD 

SKILL TO UNDERSTAND IT. 

[AID in my quiet bed, in study as I 
were, 
I saw within my troubled head a heap 
of thoughts appear. 
And every thought did shew so lively in mine eyes, 
That now I sigh'd, and then I smiled, as cause of 

thought did rise. 
I saw the little boy in thought how oft that he 
Did wish of God, to scape the rod, a tall young man 

to be. 
The young man eke that feels his bones with pains 

opprest, 
How he would be a rich old man, to live and lie 

at rest. 
The rich old man that sees his end draw on so 

sore, 
How he would be a boy again, to live so much the 

more. 
Whereat full oft I smiled, to see how all these three, 
From boy to man, from man to boy, would chop 

and change degree. 
And musing thus I think, the case is very strange, 



EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 65 

That man from wealth, to live in woe, doth ever 

seek to change. 
Thus thoughtful as I lay, I saw my withered skin, 
How it doth shew my dented chews, the flesh was 

• worn so thin. 
And eke my toothless chaps, the gates of my right 

way, 
That opes and shuts as I do speak, do thus unto 

me say : 
' Thy white and hoarish hairs, the messengers of 

That shew, like lines of true belief, that this life 

doth assuage ; 
Bid thee lay hand, and feel them hanging on thy 

chin ; 
The which do write two ages past, the third now 

coming in. 
Hang up therefore the bit of thy young wanton time : 
And thou that therein beaten art, the happiest life 

define.' 
Whereat I sigh'd, and said : ' Fare well ! my wonted 

joy ; 

Truss up thy pack, and trudge from me to every 

little boy ; 
And tell them thus from me; their time most happy 

is, 
If, to their time, they reason had, to know the truth 

of this.' 



66 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 




BONUM EST MIHI QUOD HUMILIASTI ME. 

1 HE storms are past; the clouds are over- 
blown ; 
And humble chere great rigour hath 
represt. 

For the default is set a pain foreknown ; 
And patience graft in a determined breast. 
And in the heart, where heaps of griefs were grown, 
The sweet revenge hath planted mirth and rest. 
No company so pleasant as mine own. 

Thraldom at large hath made this prison free. 
Danger well past, remembered, works delight. 
Of ling'ring doubts such hope is sprung, pardie ! j 
That nought I find displeasant in my sight, 
But when my glass presented unto me 
The cureless wound, that bleedeth day and night, 
To think, alas ! such hap should granted be 
Unto a wretch, that hath no heart to fight, 
To spill that blood, that hath so oft been shed, 
For Britain's sake, alas ! and now is dead ! 
1 A corruption of par Dieit. 






EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 



67 



EXHORTATION TO LEARN BY OTHERS' 
TROUBLE. 

Ratclif, 1 when thy rechless 2 youth 
offends, 
T Receive thy scourge by others' chastise- 
^sS? ment ; 

For such calling, when it works none amends, 
Then plagues are sent without advertisement. 
Yet Solomon said, the wronged shall recure : 
But Wyatt said true ; 6 The scar doth aye endure.' 




THE FANCY OF A WEARIED LOVER. 




HE fancy, which that I have served long- 
That hath alway been enemy to mine 

ease; 
Seemed of late to rue upon my wrong, 
And bade me fly the cause of 1113' misease. 
And I forthwith did press out of the throng, 
That thought by flight my painful heart to please 
Some other way, till I saw faith more strong ; 
And to myself I said, ' Alas ! those days 
In vain were spent, to run the race so long.' 

1 Perhaps Sir Humphrey Ratcliffe, one of the gentlemen 
pensioners. 

2 Careless. 



G8 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 

And with that thought I met my guide, that plain, 
Out of the way wherein I wander'd wrong, 
Brought me amidst the hills in base Bullayne : 
Where I am now, as restless to remain 
Against my will, full pleased with my pain. 



A SATIRE AGAINST THE CITIZENS OF 
LONDON. 1 

|ONDON ! hast thou accused me 
Of breach of laws ? the root of strife ! 
Within whose breast did boil to see, 
So fervent hot, thy dissolute life ; 

That even the hate of sins, that grow 

Within thy wicked walls so rife, 

For to break forth did convert so, 

That terror could it not repress. 

The which, by words, since preachers know 

What hope is left for to redress, 

By unknown means it liked me 

My hidden burthen to express. 

Whereby it might appear to thee 

That secret sin hath secret spite ; 

From justice' rod no fault is free 

But that all such as work unright 

1 " A Satire on London " was first published by Mr. Park 
from a manuscript in his possession. The version printed 
by Dr. Nott was collated from Park's copy and Dr. Har- 
ringtoirs manuscript. It was probably written after Lord 
Surrey had been condemned by a London jury. 




EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 69 

In most quiet, are next ill rest. 

In secret silence of the night 

This made me, with a rechless breast, 

To wake thy sluggards with my bow : 

A figure of the Lord's behest ; 

Whose scourge for sin the Scriptures shew. 

That as the fearful thunder's clap 

By sudden flame at hand we know ; 

Of pebble stones the soundless rap, 

The dreadful plague might make thee see 

Of God's wrath, that doth thee enwrap. 

That pride might know, from conscience free, 

How lofty works may her defend ; 

And envy find, as he hath sought, 

How other seek him to offend : 

And wrath taste of each cruel thought, 

The just shape higher in the end : 

And idle sloth, that never wrought, 

To heaven his spirit lift may begin : 

And greedy lucre live in dread, 

To see what hate ill got goods win. 

The letchers, ye that lusts do feed, 

Perceive what secrecy is in sin : 

And gluttons' hearts for sorrow bleed, 

Awaked, when their fault they find, 

In loathsome vice each drunken wight, 

To stir to God this was my mind. 

Thy windows had done me no spight ; 

But proud people that dread no fall, 

Clothed with falsehood, and unright 

Bred in the closures of thy wall. 

But wrested to wrath in fervent zeal 

Thou hast to strife, my secret call. 



rO EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 

Indured hearts no warning feel. 
! shameless whore ! is dread then gone ? 
Be such thy foes, as meant thy weal ? 
! member of false Babylon ! 
The shop of craft ! the den of ire ! 
Thy dreadful doom draws fast upon. 
Thy martyrs' blood by sword and fire, 
In heaven and earth for justice call. 
The Lord shall hear their just desire ! 
The flame of wrath shall on thee fall ! 
With famine and pest lamentably 
Stricken shall be thy lechers all. 
Thy proud towers and turrets high, 
Enemies to God, beat stone from stone : 
Thine idols burnt that wrought iniquity : 
When none thy ruin shall bemoan ; 
But render unto the righteous Lord, 
That so hath judged Babylon, 
Immortal praise with one accord. 





earl of Surrey's poems. 71 

THE LOVER DESCRIBETH HIS WHOLE 
STATE UNTO HIS LOVE, 

AND PROMISING HER HIS FAITHFUL GOOD WILL, 
ASSTJRETH HIMSELF OF HERS AGAIN. 1 

HE Sun, when he hath spread his rays, 
And shew'd his face ten thousand ways ; 
Ten thousand things do then begin, 
To shew the life that they are in. 
The heaven shews lively art and hue, 
Of sundry shapes and colours new, 
And laughs upon the earth ; anon, 
The earth, as cold as any stone, 
Wet in the tears of her own kind, 
'Gins then to take a joyful mind. 
For well she feels that out and out 
The sun doth warm her round about, 
And dries her children" tenderly ; 
And shews them forth full orderly. 
The mountains high, and how they stand ! 
| The valleys, and the great main land ! 
The trees, the herbs, the towers strong, 
The castles, and the rivers long ! 

1 This poem is among those of " Uncertain Authors " 
printed by Tottel. Dr. Nott ascribes it to Surrey, on the 
authority of Turberville, in the following line : — 

" Though noble Surrey said ' that absence wonders 
frame.' " 



72 EARL OP SURREY'S POEMS. 

And even for joy thus of this heat 

She sheweth forth her pleasures great, 

And sleeps no more ; but sendeth forth 

Her clergions, 1 her own dear worth, 

To mount and fly up to the air ; 

Where then they sing in order fair, 

And tell in song full merrily, 

How they have slept full quietly 

That night, about their mother's sides. 

And when they have sung more besides, 

Then fall they to their mother's breasts, 

Whereas they feed, or take their rests. 

The hunter then sounds out his horn, 

And rangeth straight through wood and corn. 

On hills then shew the ewe and lamb, 

And every young one with his dam. 

Then lovers walk and tell their tale, 

Both of their bliss, and of their bale ; 2 

And how they serve, and how they do, 

And how their lady loves them too. 

Then tune the birds their harmony; 

Then flock the fowl in company ; 

Then every thing doth pleasure find 

In that, that comforts all their kind. 

No dreams do drench them of the night 

Of foes, that would them slay, or bite, 

As hounds, to hunt them at the tail ; 

Or men force them through hill and dale. 

The sheep then dreams not of the wolf: 

The shipman forces not the gulf; 

The lamb thinks not the butcher's knife 

Should then bereave him of his life. 

1 Young brood. 2 Sorrow 



EARL OF SURREY S POEMS. 

For when the sun doth once run in, 
Then all their gladness doth begin ; 
And then their skips, and then their play : 
So falls their sadness then away. 

And thus all things have comforting 
In that, that doth them comfort bring ; 
Save I, alas ! whom neither sun, 
Nor aught that God hath wrought and done 
May comfort aught ; as though I were 
A thing not made for comfort here. 
For being absent from your sight. 
Which are my joy and whole delight, 
My comfort, and my pleasure too, 
How can I joy ! how should I do ? 
May sick men laugh, that roar with pain ? 
Joy they in song, that do complain ? 
Are martyrs in their torments glad ? 
Do pleasures please them that are mad ? 
Then how may I in comfort be, 
That lack the thing should comfort me ? 
The blind man oft, that lacks his sight, 
Complains not most the lack of light ; 
But those that knew their perfectness, 
And then do miss their blissfulness, 
In martyrs' tunes they sing, and wail 
The want of that, which doth them fail. 

And hereof comes that in my brains 
So many fancies work my pains. 
For when I weigh your worthiness 
Your wisdom, and your gentleness, 
Your virtues and your sundry grace, 
And mind the countenance of your face ; 
And how that you are she alone, 



74 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 

To whom I must both plain and moan * 
Whom I do love, and must do still j 
Whom I embrace, and aye so will; 
To serve and please you as I can, 
As may a woful faithful man ; 
And find myself so far you fro, 
God knows, what torment and what woe, 
My rueful heart doth then embrace j 
The blood then changeth in my face ; 
My sinews dull, in dumps 3 I stand, 
No life I feel in foot nor hand, 
As pale as any clout, and dead. 
Lo ! suddenly the blood o'erspread, 
And gone again, it nill 2 so bide ; 
And thus from life to death I slide, 
As cold sometimes as any stone ; 
And then again as hot anon. 

Thus comes and goes my sundry fits, 
To give me sundry sorts of wits ; 
Till that a sigh becomes my friend, 
And then too all this woe doth end. 
And sure, I think, that sigh doth run 
From me to you, where ay you won. 
For well I find it easeth me ; 
And certes much it pleaseth me, 
To think that it doth come to you, 
As, would to God, it could so do. 
For then I know you would soon find, 
By scent and savour of the wind, 
That even a martyr's sigh it is, 
Whose joy you are, and all his bliss • 
His comfort and his pleasure eke, 

1 Dulness of spirits. 2 Unwilling. 



EAKL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 75 

And even the same that he doth seek ; 
The same that he doth wish and crave ; 
The same that he doth trust to have ; 
To tender you in all he may, 
And all your likings to obey, 
As far as in his power shall lie ; 
Till death shall dart him for to die. 

But, well-away ! mine own most best, 
My joy, my comfort, and my rest; 
The causer of my woe and smart, 
And yet the pleaser of my heart ; 
And she that on the earth above 
Is even the worthiest for to love, 
Hear now my plaint ! hear now my woe ! 
Hear now his pain that loves you so ! 
And if your heart do pity bear, 
Pity the cause that you shall hear. 

A doleful foe in all this doubt, 
Who leaves me not, but seeks me out, 
Of wretched form and loathsome face, 
While I stand in this woful case, 
Comes forth, and takes me by the hand, 
And says, ' Friend, hark ! and understand ; 
I see well by thy port and chere, 
And by thy looks and thy manere, 
And by thy sadness as thou go est, 
And by the sighs that thou out throwest. 
That thou art stuffed full of woe. 
The cause, I think, I do well know. 
A fantaser thou art of some, 
By whom thy wits are overcome. 
But hast thou read old pamphlets aught ? 
Or hast thou known how books have taught 



76 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 

That love doth use to such as thou ? 
When they do think them safe enow, 
And certain of their ladies' grace, 
Hast thou not seen ofttimes the case, 
That suddenly their hap hath turn'd ? 
As things in flame consum'd and burn'd. 
Some by deceit forsaken right ; 
Some likewise changed of fancy light ; 
And some by absence soon forgot ? 
The lots in love, why knowest thou not ? 
And though that she be now thine own, 
And knows thee well, as may be known ; 
And thinks thee to be such a one 
As she likes best to be her own ; 
Think'st thou that others have not grace, 
To shew and plain their woful case ? 
And choose her for their lady now ; 
And swear her truth as well as thou ? 
And what if she do alter mind, 
Where is the love that thou wouldst find ? 
Absence, my friend, works wonders offc ; 
Now brings full low that ]ay full loft ; 
Now turns the mind, now to, now fro, 
And where art thou, if it were so ?' 

6 If absence/ quoth I, ' be marvellous, 
I find her not so dangerous ; 
For she may not remove me fro. 
The poor good will that I do owe 
To her, whom unneth 1 I love, and shall; 
And chosen have above them all, 
To serve and be her own as far 
As any man may offer her ; 
! With distress. 



EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 

And will her serve and will her love, 
And lowly, as it shall behove ; 
And die her ow r n, if fate be so : 
Thus shall my heart nay part her fro. 
And witness shall my good will be, 
That absence takes her not from me ; 
But that my love doth still increase 
To mind her still, and never cease : 
And what I feel to be in me, 
The same good will, I think, hath she ; 
As firm and fast to bidden aye, 
Till death depart us both away.' 

And as I have my tale thus told, 
Steps unto me, with countenance bold, 
A steadfast friend, a counsellor, 
And nam'd is, Hope, my comforter ; 
And stoutly then he speaks and says, 
6 Thou hast said truth withouten nays ; 
For I assure thee, even by oath, 
And thereon take my hand and troth, 
That she is one the worthiest, 
The truest and the faithfullest ; 
The gentlest and the meekest of mind, 
That here on earth a man may find : 
And if that love and truth were gone, 
In her it might be found alone ; 
For in her mind no thought there is, 
But how she may be true, I wis ; l 
And tenders thee, and all thy heale, 2 
And wisheth both thy health and weal ; 

1 To know, perceive. 

2 Or hele, prosperity, happiness. 



78 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 

And loves thee even as far-forth than 
As any woman may a man ; 
And is thine own, and so she says ; 
And cares for thee ten thousand ways. 
On thee she speaks, on thee she thinks ; 
With thee she eats, with thee she drinks ; 
With thee she talks, with thee she moans; 
With thee she sighs, with thee she groans ; 
With thee she says, f Farewell, mine own !' 
When thou, God knows, full far art gone. 
And even, to tell thee all aright, 
To thee she says full oft, ' Good night V 
And names thee oft her own most dear, 
Her comfort, weal, and all her cheer ; 
And tells her pillow all the tale 
How thou hast done her woe and bale ; 
And how she longs, and plains for thee, 
And says, i Why art thou so from me ? 
Am I not she that loves thee best ? 
Do I not wish thine ease and rest? 
Seek I not how I may thee please ? 
Why art thou then so from thine ease ? 
If I be she for whom thou carest, 
For whom in torments so thou farest, 
Alas ! thou knowest to find me here, 
Where I remain thine own most dear ; 
Thine own most true, thine own most just ; 
Thine own that loves thee still, and must ; 
Thine own that cares alone for thee, 
As thou, I think, dost care for me ; 
And even the woman, she alone 
That is full bent to be thine own.' 

6 What wilt thou more? what canst thou crave? 



eari/ of Surrey's poems. 79 

Since she is as thou wouldst her have. 

Then set this drivel out of door, 

That in thy brains such tales doth pour, 

Of absence, and of changes strange ; 

Send him to those that use to change : 

For she is none I thee avow, 

And well thou mayst believe me now.' 

When Hope hath thus his reason said, 
Lord ! how I feel me well a-paid ! 
A new blood then o'erspreads my bones, 
That all in joy I stand at ones. 
My hands I throw to heav'n above, 
And humbly thank the god of love ; 
That of his grace I should bestow 
My love so well as I it owe. 
And all the planets as they stand, 
I thank them too with heart and hand ; 
That their aspects so friendly were, 
That I should so my good will bear ; 
To you, that are the worthiest, 
The fairest and the gentleest ; 
And best can say, and best can do 
That longs, methinks, a woman to ; 
And therefore are most worthy far, 
To be beloved as you are. 
And so says Hope in all his tale, 
Whereby he easeth all my bale. 
For I believe, and think it true 
That he doth speak or say of you. 
And thus contented, lo ! I stand 
With that, that Hope bears me in hand, 
That you are mine, and shall so be. 
Which Hope I keep full sure in me, 



80 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 

As he, that all my comfort is. 
On you alone, which are my bliss, 
My pleasure chief, which most I find, 
And e'en the whole joy of my mind : 
And shall so be, until the death 
Shall make me yield up life and breath. 
Thus, good mine own, lo ! here my trust ; 
Lo ! here my truth, and service just ; 
Lo ! in what case for you I stand ! 
Lo ! how you have me in your hand ; 
And if you can requite a man, 
Kequite me, as you find me than. 



ECCLESIASTES. 

CHAPTER I. 

SOLOMON, David's son, King of 

Jerusalem, 
Chosen by God to teach the Jews, and 
in his laws to lead them, 
Confess, under the Sun that every thing is vain ; 
The world is false ; man he is frail, and all his 

pleasures pain. 
Alas ! what stable fruit may Adam's children find 
In that they seek by sweat of brows and travail of 

their mind ! 
We, that live on the earth, draw toward our decay; 
Our children fill our place a while, and then they 
fade away. 




EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 81 

Such changes make the earth, and doth remove for 

none ; 
But serves us for a place to play our tragedies upon. 
When that the restless sun westward his course 

hath run, 
Towards the east he hastes as fast to rise where 

he begun. 
When hoary Boreas hath blown his frozen blast, 
Then Zephyrus, with his gentle breath, dissolves 

the ice as fast. 
Floods that drink up small brooks, and swell by 

rage of rain, 
Discharge in seas ; which them repulse, and swal- 
low straight again. 
These worldly pleasures, Lord ! so swift they run 

their race, 
That scarce our eyes may them discern ; they bide 

so little space. 
What hath been but is now; the like hereafter shall: 
WTmt new device grounded so sure, that dreadeth 

not the fall ! 
What may be called new, but such things in times 

past 
As Time buried, and doth revive ; and Time again 

shall waste. 
Things past right worthy fame, have now no bruit 

at all ; 
Even so shall die such things as now the simple 

wonders call. 
I, that in David's seat sit crowned, and rejoice, 
That with my sceptre rule the Jews, and teach 

them with my voice, 
Have searched long to know all things under the sun; 



82 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 

To see how in this mortal life a surety might be won. 
This kindled will to know ; strange things for to 

desire, 
God hath graft in our greedy breasts a torment for 

our hire. 
The end of each travail forthwith I sought to know ; 
I found them vain, mixed with gall, and burthen' d 

with much woe. 
Defaults of nature's work no man's hand may re- 
store, 
Which be in number like the sands upon the salt 

floods shore. 
Then, vaunting in my wit, I gan call to my mind 
What rules of wisdom I had taught, that elders 

could not find. 
And, as by contraries to try most things we use, 
Men's follies, and their errors eke I gan them all 

peruse; 
Thereby with more delight to knowledge for to 

climb : 
But this I found an endless work of pain, and loss 

of time. 
For he to wisdom's school that doth apply his mind, 
The further that he wades therein, the greater 

doubts shall find. 
And such as enterprise to put new things in ure, 
Of some that shall scorn their device, may well 

themselves assure. 



earl or Surrey's poems. 83 



Chapter II. 

gfjlg|gIlOM pensive fancies then I gan my heart 
revoke ; 
And gave me to such sporting plays as 
laughter might provoke : 
But even such vain delights, when they most blinded 

me, 
Always, methought, with smiling grace a king did 

ill agree. 
Then sought I how to please my belly with much 

wine, 
To feed me fat with costly feasts of rare delights, 

and fine ; 
And other pleasures eke to purchase me, with rest: 
In so great choice to find the thing that might 

content me best. 
But, Lord ! what care of mind, what sudden storms 

of ire, 
What broken sleeps endured I, to compass rny desire ! 
To build me houses fair then set I all my cure : 
By princely acts thus strove I still to make my 

fame endure. 
Delicious gardens eke I made to please my sight ; 
And graft therein all kinds of fruits that might my 

mouth delight. 
Conduits, by lively springs from their old course I 

drew, 
For to refresh the fruitful trees that in my gardens 

grew. 
Of cattle great increase I bred in little space ; 



84 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 

Bondmen I bought ; I gave them wives, and serv'd 

me with their race. 
Great heaps of shining gold by sparing gan I save ; 
With things of price so furnished as fits a prince 

to have. 
To hear fair women sing sometime I did rejoice ; 
Ravished with their pleasant tunes, and sweetness 

of their voice. 
Lemans I had, so fair and of so lively hue, 
That whoso gazed in their face might well their 

beauty rue. 
Never erst sat there king so rich in David's seat ; 
Yet still, methought, for so small gain the travail 

was too great. 
From my desirous eyes I hid no pleasant sight, 
Nor from my heart no kind of mirth that might 

give them delight; 
Which was the only fruit I reap'd of all my pain, 
To feed my eyes, and to rejoice my heart with all 

my gain. 
But when I made my count, with how great care 

of mind 
And hearts unrest, that I had sought so wasteful 

fruit to find ; 
Then was I striken straight with that abused fire, 
To glory in that goodly wit that compass'd my 

desire. 
But fresh before mine eyes grace did my faults 

renew : 
What gentle callings I had fled my ruin to pursue ; 
What raging pleasures past, peril and hard escape ; 
What fancies in my head had wrought the liquor 

of the grape. 



The error then I saw that their frail hearts doth 

move, 
Which strive in vain for to compare with Him that 

sits above : 
In whose most perfect works such craft appeareth 

plain, 
That to the least of them, there may no mortal 

hand attain. 
And like as lightsome day doth shine above the 

night, 
So dark to me did folly seem, and wisdom's beams 

as bright, 
Whose eyes did seem so clear motes to discern and 

find: 
But Will had closed Folly's eyes, which groped 

like the blind, 
Yet death and time consume all wit and worldly 

fame ; 
And look ! w r hat end that folly hath, and wisdom 

hath the same. 
Then said I thus : i Lord ! may not thy wisdom 

cure 
The wailful wrongs and hard conflicts that folly 

doth endure ?' 
To sharp my wit so fine then why took I this pain ? 
Now find I well this noble search may eke be 

called vain. 
As slander's loathsome bruit sounds folly's just 

reward, 
Is put to silence all betime, and brought in small 

regard : 
Even so doth time devour the noble blast of fame, 
Which should resound their glories great that do 

deserve the same. 



86 earl of Surrey's poems. 

Thus present changes chase away the wonders past, 
Ne is the wise man's fatal thread yet longer spun 

to last. 
Then in this wretched vale, our life I loathed plain, 
When I beheld our fruitless pains to compass 

pleasures vain. 
My travail this avail hath me produced, lo ! 
An heir unknown shall reap the fruit that I in seed 

did sow. 
But whereunto the Lord his nature shall incline 
Who can foreknow, into whose hands I must my 

goods resign ? 
But, Lord, how pleasant sweet then seem'd the 

idle life, 
That never charged was with care, nor burthened 

with strife. 
And vile the greedy trade of them that toil so sore, 
To leave to such their travails fruit that never 

sweat therefore. 
What is that pleasant gain ? what is that sweet re- 
lief, 
That should delay the bitter taste that we feel of 

our grief? 
The gladsome days we pass to search a simple gain ; 
The quiet nights, with broken sleeps, to feed a 

restless brain. 
What hope is left us then ? What comfort doth 

remain 
Our quiet hearts for to rejoice with the fruit of our 

pain? 
If that be true, who may himself so happy call 
As I whose free and sumptuous spence doth shine 

beyond them all ? 






EARL OF SUBBEF'S POEM?. 87 

Surely it is a gift and favour of the Lord. 

Liberally to spend our goods, the ground of all 
discord. 

And wretched hearts have they that let their trea- 
sures mould, 

And carry the rod that scourgeth them that glory 
in their gold. 

But I do know, by proof, whose riches bear such 
bruit. 

What stable wealth may stand in waste, or heaping 
of such fruit. 



Chapter III, 

Sj|J£§| IKE to the steerless boat that swerves with 

every wind. 
fjjjlllgl The slipper top of worldly wealth, by cruel 

proof I find. 
Scarce hath the seed, whereof that nature form- 

eth man, 
Received life, when death him yields to earth 

where he began ! 
The grafted plants with pain, whereof we hoped 

fruit. 
To root them up. with blossoms spread, then is 

our chief pursuit. 
That erst we reared up. we undermine again ; 
And shred the sprays whose growth sometime we 

laboured with pain. 
Each froward threat 'ning chere of fortune makes us 
plain ; 



88 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 

And every pleasant show revives our woful hearts 

again. 
Ancient walls to rase is our unstable guise ; 
And of their weather-beaten stones, to build some 

new device. 
New fancies daily spring, which vade,* returning 

mo'; 
And now we practise to obtain that straight we 

must forego. 
Some time we seek to spare that afterward we 

waste ; 
And that we travail'd sore to knit, for to unloose 

as fast. 
In sober silence now our quiet lips we close ; 
And with unbridled tongues forthwith our secret 

hearts disclose. 
Such as in folded arms we did embrace, we hate ; 
Whom straight we reconcile again, and banish all 

debate. 
My seed, with labour sown, such fruit produceth 

me, 
To waste my life in contraries that never shall agree. 
From God these heavy cares are sent for our un- 
rests ; 
And with such burdens for our wealth hefraughteth 

full our breasts. 
All that the Lord hath wrought, hath beauty and 

good grace; 
And to each thing assigned is the proper time and 

place. 
And granted eke to man of all the world's estate, 

1 Pass away. 



EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 89 

And of each thing wrought in the same, to argue 
and debate. 

Which art, though it approach the heavenly know- 
ledge most, 

To search the natural ground of things, — yet all is 
labour lost. 

But then the wandering eyes that long for surety 
sought, 

Found that by pain no certain wealth might in 
this world be bought. 

Who liveth in delight and seeks no greedy thrift, 

But freely spends his goods, may think it is a 
secret gift. 

Fulfilled shall it be what so the Lord intend ; 

Which no device of man's wit may advance, nor 
yet defend ; 

Who made all things of nought, that Adam's chil- 
dren might 

Learn how to dread the Lord, that wrought such 
wonders in their sight. 

The grisly wonders past, which time wears out of 
mind, 

To be renewed in our days the Lord hath so as- 
sign'd. 

Lo ! thus his careful scourge doth steal on us tin- 
ware ; 

W T hich, when the flesh hath clean forgot, he doth 
again repair. 

When I in this vain search had wander d sore my 
wit, 

I saw a royal throne eke where as Justice should 
have sit. 

Instead of whom I saw. with fierce and cruel mood, 



90 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 

Where wrong was set ; that bloody beast that 

drank the guiltless blood : 
Then thought I thus : 6 One day the Lord shall sit 

in doom, 
To view his flock, and choose the pure ; the spotted 

have no room/ 
Yet be such scourges sent, that each aggrieved 

mind 
Like the brute beasts that swell in rage and fury 

by their kind, 
His error may confess when he hath wrestled long ; 
And then with patience may him arm : the sure 

defence of wrong. 
For death, that of the beast the carrion doth de- 
vour, 
Unto the noble kind of man presents the fatal hour. 
The perfect form that God hath given to either 

man, 
Or other beast, dissolve it shall to earth, where it 

began. 
And who can tell if that the soul of man ascend ; 
Or with the body if it die, and to the ground de- 
scend. 
Wherefore each greedy heart that riches seeks to 

gain, 
Gather may he that savoury fruit that springeth of 

his pain. 
A mean convenient wealth I mean to take in worth ; 
And with a hand of largess eke in measure pour it 

forth. 
For treasure spent in life the body doth sustain ; 
The heir shall waste the hoarded gold, amassed 

with much pain. 




earl of suerey's poems. 91 

Nor may foresight of man such order give in life, 
For to foreknow who shall rejoice 1 their gotten 
good with strife. 



Chaptee IV. 

'HEN I bethought me well, under the rest- 
less Sun 
By folk of power what cruel works un- 
chastised were done ; 
I saw where stood a herd by power of such opprest, 
Out of whose eyes ran floods of tears, that bayned 2 

all their breast ; 
Devoid of comfort clean, in terror and distress ; 
In whose defence none would arise such rigour to 

repress. 
Then thought I thus : [ Lord ! the dead, whose 

fatal hour 
Is clean run out, more happy are ; whom that the 

worms devour : 
And happiest is the seed that never did conceive ; 
That never felt the wailful wrongs that mortal folk 

receive.' 
And then I saw that wealth, and every honest gain 
By travail won, and sweat of brows, gan grow into 

disdain, 
Through sloth of careless folk, whom ease so fat 

doth feed ; 
Whose idle hands do nought but waste the fruit of 

other's seed. 

1 Enjoy. 2 Bathed. 



92 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 

Which to themselves persuade — that little got with 
ease 

More thankful is, than kingdoms won by travail 
and disease. 

Another sort I saw without both* friend or kin, 

Whose greedy ways yet never sought a faithful 
friend to win. 

Whose wretched corpse no toil yet ever weary could; 

Nor glutted ever were their eyes with heaps of 
shining gold. 

But, if it might appear to their abused eyen, 

To whose avail they travail so, and for whose sake 
they pine ; 

Then should they see what cause they have for to 
repent 

The fruitless pains and eke the time that they in 
vain have spent. 

Then gan I thus resolve — c More pleasant is the life 

Of faithful friends that spend their goods in com- 
mon, without strife.' 

For as the tender friend appeaseth every grief, 

So, if he fall that lives alone, who shall be his 
relief? 

The friendly feeres 1 lie warm in arms embraced 
fast ; 

Who sleeps alone, at every turn doth feel the 
winter blast : 

What can he do but yield, that must resist alone ? 

If there be twain, one may defend the t'other over- 
thrown. 

The single twined cords may no such stress endure 

1 Companions. 



EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 93 

As cables braided threefold may, together wreathed 
sure. 

In better far estate stand children, poor and wise, 

Than aged kings, wedded to will, that work with- 
out advice. 

In prison have I seen, or this, a woful wight 

That never knew what freedom meant, nor tasted 
of delight ; 

With such unhoped hap in most despair hath met, 

Within the hands that erst wore gyves 1 to have a 
sceptre set. 

And by conjures 2 the seed of kings is thrust from 
state, 

Whereon a grieved people work ofttimes their hid- 
den hate. 

Other, without respect, I saw a friend or foe 

W T ith feet worn bare in tracing such, 3 whereas the 
honours grew. 

And at death of a prince great routs revived strange, 

Which fain their old yoke to discharge, rejoiced in 
the change. 

But when I thought, to these as heavy even or 
more 

Shall be the burden of his reign, as his that went 
before ; 

And that a train like great upon the dead attend, 4 

I gan conclude, each greedy gain hath its uncer- 
tain end. 

In humble spirit is set the temple of the Lord ; 

Where if thou enter, look thy mouth and conscience 
may accord ! 

1 Fetters. 2 Conspiracies. 

3 Or, paths. 4 Depend, MS. 



94 KARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 

Whose Church is built of love, and deckt with hot 

desire, 
And simple faith ; the yolden ghost 1 his mercy doth 

require. 
Where perfectly for aye he in his word doth rest ; 
With gentle ear to hear thy suit, and grant thee 

thy request. 
In boast of outward works he taketh no delight, 
Nor waste of words ; such sacrifice unsavoureth in 

his sight. 



Chapter V. 

'HEN that repentant tears hath cleansed 
clear from ill 
The charged breast; and grace hath 
wrought therein amending will ; 

Withhold demands then may his mercy well assail 

The speech man saith, without the which request 
may none prevail. 

More shall thy penitent sighs his endless mercy 
please, 

Than their importune suits, which dream that words 
God's wrath appease. 

For heart, contrite of fault, is gladsome recom- 
pense ; 

And prayer, fruit of Faith, whereby God doth with 
sin dispense. 

As fearful broken sleeps spring from a restless head, 

1 That is, the spirit yielded up to his will. 




EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 95 

By chattering of unholy lips is fruitless prayer bred. 
In waste of wind, I rede/ vow nought unto the Lord, 
Whereto thy heart to bind thy will, freely doth not 

accord ; 
For humble vows MfuTd, by grace right sweetly 

smoke : 
But bold behests, broken by lusts, the wrath of 

God provoke. 
Yet bet 2 with humble heart thy frailty to confess, 
Than to boast of such perfectness, whose works 

such fraud express. 
With feigned words and oaths contract with God 

no guile ; 
Such craft returns to thine own harm, and doth 

thyself defile. 
And though the mist of sin persuade such error 

light, 
Thereby yet are thy outward works all dainpned 3 

in his sight. 
As sundry broken dreams us diversly abuse, 
So are his errors manifold that many words doth 

use. 
With humble secret plaint, few words of hot effect, 
Honour thy Lord ; allowance vain of void desert 

neglect. 
Though wrong at times the right, and wealth eke 

need oppress, 
Think not the hand of justice slow to follow the 

redress. 

For such unrighteous folk as rule withouten dread, 

By some abuse or secret lust he suffereth to be led. 

The chief bliss that in earth to living man is lent, 

1 I advise. 2 Better. 3 Condemned. 



96 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 



Is moderate wealth to nourish life, if he can be 

content. 
He that hath but one field, and greedily seeketh 

nought, 
To fence the tiller's hand from need, is king within 

his thought. 
But such as of their gold their only idol make, 
No treasure may the raven of their hungry hands 

aslake. 
For he that gapes for good, and hoardeth all his gain, 
Travails in vain to hide the sweet that should re- 
lieve his pain. 
Where is great wealth, there should be many a 

needy wight 
To spend the same ; and that should be the rich 

man's chief delight. 
The sweet and quiet sleeps that wearied limbs op- 
press, 
Beguile the night in diet thin, not feasts of great 

excess : 
But waker 1 lie the rich; whose lively heat with rest 
Their charged bulks 2 with change of meats cannot 

so soon digest. 
Another righteous doom I saw of greedy gain ; 
With busy cares such treasures oft preserved to 

their bane : 
The plenteous houses sackt ; the owners end with 

shame 
Their sparkled goods ; their needy heirs, that should 

enjoy the same, 
From wealth despoiled bare, from whence thjy 

came they went ; 

1 Wakeful. 2 Bodies. 






EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 97 

Clad in the clothes of poverty, as Nature first them 

sent. 
Naked as from the womb we came, if we depart, 
With toil to seek that we must leave, what boot 

to vex the heart ? 
What life lead testy men then, that consume their 

days 
In inward frets, untemperd hates, at strife with 

some always. 
Then gan I praise all those, in such a world of 

strife, 
As take the profit of their goods, that may be had 

in life. 
For sure the liberal hand that hath no heart to spare 
This fading wealth, but pours it forth, it is a virtue 

rare : 
That makes wealth slave to need, and gold become 

his thrall, 
Clings 1 not his guts with niggish 2 fare, to heap 

his chest withal ; 
But feeds the lusts of kind with costly meats and 

wine ; 
And slacks the hunger and the thirst of needy folk 

that pine. 
No glutton's feast I mean in waste of spence 3 to 

strive ; 
But temperate meals the dulled spirits with joy 

thus to revive. 
No care may pierce where mirth hath temper'd 

such a breast : 
The bitter gall, season'd with sweet, such wisdom 

may digest. 

1 Starve. 2 Niggard. 3 Expense. 

H 



98 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 




CERTAIN PSALMS. 
The Prologue. 

^HERE rechless 1 youth in an unquiet 
breast, 

Set on by wrath, revenge, and cruelty, 
After long war patience had oppress'd ; 

And justice, wrought by princely equity ; 

My Denny 2 then, mine error deep imprest, 

Began to work despair of liberty ; 

Had not David, the perfect warrior taught, 

That of my fault thus pardon should be sought. 

Domine Deus salutis. Psalm lxxxyiii. 

P^||^S LORD ! upon whose will dependeth my 

^M^i welfare, 

£=H^ ; To call upon thy holy name, since day nor 

night I spare, 
Grant that the just request of this repentant mind 
So pierce thine ears, that in thy sight some favour 
it may find. 

1 Careless. 

2 In the old edition the name does not occur, and the 
word ' conscience' is substituted. Dr. Nott suggests that 
this person was u Sir Walter Denny, an intimate friend of 
the Howard family, and afterwards one of the executors of 
Henry the Eighth's will." 



EARL OE SURREY'S POEMS. 99 

My soul is franghted full with grief of follies past ; 
My restless body doth consume, and death ap- 

proacheth fast : 
Like them, whose fatal thread thy hand hath cut 

in twain ; 
Of whom there is no further bruit, which in their 

graves remain. 
Lord ! thou hast me cast headlong, to please my 

foe, 
Into a pit all bottomless, where, as I plain 1 my 

woe, 
The. burden of thy wrath it doth me sore oppress ; 
And sundry storms thou hast me sent of terror and 

distress. 
The faithful friends are fled and banished from my 

sight : 
And such as I have held full dear, have set my 

friendship light. 
My durance doth persuade of freedom such despair, 
That by the tears that bain my breast, mine eye- 
sight cloth appair. 2 
Yet do I never cease thine aid for to desire, 
With humble heart and stretched hands, for to 

appease thine ire. 
Wherefore dost thou forbear in the defence of thine, 
To shew such tokens of thy power in sight of 

Adam's line ; 
Whereby each feeble heart with faith might so be 

fed, 
That in the mouth of thy elect thy mercies might 

be spread. 

1 Mourn, 2 Fail, impair. 



100 EAPvL OF SUItREY'S POEMS. 

The flesh that feedeth worms cannot thy love de- 
clare ! 
Nor such set forth thy praise as dwell in the land 

of despair. 
In blind indured hearts light of thy lively name 
Cannot appear, nor cannot judge the brightness of 

the same. 
Nor blazed may thy name be by the mouths of 

those 
Whom death hath shut in silence, so as they may 

not disclose. 
The lively voice of them that in thy word delight, 
Must be the trump that must resound the glory of 

thy might. 
Wherefore I shall not cease, in chief of my distress 
To call on Thee, till that the sleep my wearied 

limbs oppress. 
And in the morning eke, when that the sleep is 

fled, 
With floods of salt repentant tears to wash my 

restless bed. 
Within this careful mind, burden'd with care and 

grief, 
Why dost thou not appear, O Lord ! that shouldst 

be his relief? 
My wretched state behold, whom death shall straight 

assail ; 
Of one, from youth afflicted still, that never did 

but wail. 
The dread, lo ! of thine ire hath trod me under 

feet: 
The scourges of thine angry hand hath made death 

seem full sweet. 






EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 101 

Like as the roaring waves the sunken ship sur- 
round, 

Great heaps of care did swallow me, and I no 
succour found : 

For they whom no mischance could from my love 
divide, 

Are forced, for my greater grief, from me their 
face to hide. 




The Prologue. 

'HE sudden storms that heave me to and 

\m fro, 

b^? Had well near pierced Faith, my guiding 
sail ; 
For I, that on the noble voyage go 
To succour truth, and falsehood to assail, 
Constrained am to bear my sails full low ; 
And never could attain some pleasant gale. 
For unto such the prosperous winds do blow 
As run from port to port to seek avail. 1 
This bred despair ; whereof such doubts did grow 
That I gan faint, and all my courage fail. 
But now, my Blage, 2 mine error well I see ; 
Such goodly light king David giveth me. 

1 Advantage. 

2 " Blame " in the old edition. George Blage, a friend of 
Surrey's, who accompanied him to Landrecy. He was of a 
good Kentish family, was educated at Cambridge, and ad- 
dressed a poem to Lord Wriothesley. 



102 earl of suerey's poems, 



Qtiam bonus Israel Dens. Psalm lxxiii. 






j~c|HOUGH, Lord, to Israel thy graces plen- 
\0K teous be ; 

fe.^s#f I mean to such, with pure intent as fix 

their trust in Thee, 
Yet whiles the Faith did faint that should have 

been my guide, 
Like them that walk in slipper paths, my feet be- 
gan to slide ; 
Whiles I did grudge at those that glory in their 

gold, 
Whose loathsome pride enjoy eth wealth in quiet, 

as they would. 
To see by course of years what nature doth appair, 1 
The palaces of princely form succeed from heir to 

heir. 
From all such travails free, as 'long to Adam's 

seed, 
Neither withdrawn from wicked works by danger, 

nor by dread. 
Whereof their scornful pride, and gloried with their 

eyes ; 
As garments clothe the naked man, thus are they 

clad in vice. 
Thus, as they wish, succeeds the mischief that they 

mean ; 
Whose glutted cheeks sloth feeds so fat, as scant 

their eyes be seen. 2 

1 Impair, or bring to decay. 

2 This seems aimed at King Henrv VIII. 



EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 103 

Unto whose cruel power most men for dread are 

fain 
To bend or bow; with lofty looks, whiles they 

vaunt in their reign ; 
And in their bloody hands, whose cruelty that 

frame 
The wailful works that scourge the poor, without 

regard of blame. 
To tempt the living God they think it no offence ; 
And pierce the simple with their tongues that can 

make no defence. 
Such proofs before the just, to cause the hearts to 

waver, 
Be set like cups mingled with gall, of bitter taste 

and savour. 
Then say thy foes in scorn, that taste no other food, 
But suck the flesh of thy Elect, and bathe them in 

their blood ; 
c Should we believe the Lord doth know, and suf- 
fer this ? 
Fooled be he with fables vain that so abused is.' 
In terror of the just, that reigns iniquity, 
Armed with power, laden with gold, and dread for 

cruelty. 
Then vain the war might seem, that I by faith 

maintain 
Against the flesh, whose false effects my pure 

heart would disdain. 
For I am scourged still, that no offence have done, 
By wrathes children ; and from my birth my chas- 
tising begun. 
When I beheld their pride, and slackness of thy 

hand, 



104 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 

I gan bewail the'woful state wherein thy chosen 

stand. 
And when I sought whereof thy sufferance, Lord, 

should grow, 
I found no wit could pierce so far, thy holy dooms 

to know : 
And that no mysteries, nor doubt could be distrust, 
Till I come to the holy place, the mansion of the 

just ; 
Where I shall see what end thy justice shall pre- 
pare, 
For such as build on worldly wealth, and dye their 

colours fair. 
Oh ! how their ground is false ! and all their 

building vain ! 
And they shall fall ; their power shall fail that did 

their pride maintain. 
As charged hearts with care, that dream some plea- 
sant turn. 
After their sleep find their abuse, and to their 

plaint return ; 
So shall their glory fade ; thy sword of vengeance 

shall 
Unto their drunken eyes in blood disclose their 

errors all. 
And when their golden fleece is from their back 

y-shorn ; 
The spots that underneath were hid, thy chosen 

sheep shall scorn : 
And till that happy day, my heart shall swell in 

care, 
My eyes yield tears, my years consume between 

hope and despair. 



EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 105 

Lo ! how my spirits are dull, and all thy judgments 
dark, 

No mortal head may scale so high, but wonder at 
thy work. 

Alas ! how oft my foes have framed my decay ; 

But when I stood in dread to drench, 1 thy hands 
still did me stay. 

And in each vo} T age that I took to conquer sin, 

Thou wert my guide, and gave me grace, to com- 
fort me therein. 

And when my withered skin unto my bones did 
cleave, 

And flesh did waste, thy grace did then my simple 
spirits relieve. 

In other succour then, Lord ! why should I 
trust ; 

But only thine, whom I have found in thy behight c 
so just. 

And such for dread, or gain as shall thy name re- 
fuse, 

Shall perish with their golden gods that did their 
hearts seduce. 

While 3 I, that in thy word have set my trust and 

. J ' 0y ' 
The high reward that 'longs thereto shall quietly 

enjoy. 
And my unworthy lips, inspired with thy grace, 
Shall thus forespeak thy secret works, in sight of 

Adam's race. 

1 To be overwhelmed. - Promise. 3 MS. Where. 




106 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 



Exaudi, Dens, orationem meam. Psalm lv. 

IYE ear to my suit, Lord ! fromward 1 hide 
not thy face : 
Behold ! hearken/in grief, lamenting how 
I pray : 
My foes that bray so loud, and eke threpe on 2 so 

fast, 
Buckled to do me scath, 3 so is their malice bent. 
Care pierceth my entrails, and travaileth my spirit; 
The grisly fear of death environeth my breast : 
A trembling cold of dread overwhelmeth my heart. 
' Oh ! ' think I, ' had I wings like to the simple 

dove, 
This peril might I fly ; and seek some place of rest 
In wilder woods, where I might dwell far from 

these cares.' 
What speedy way of wing my plaints should they 

lay on, 
To 'scape the stormy blast that threaten'd is to me? 
Eein those unbridled tongues ! break that conjured 

league ! 
For I decipher 'd have amid our town the strife. 
Guile and wrong keep the walls ; they ward both 

day and night : 
And mischief join'd with care doth keep the market- 
stead : 
Whilst wickedness with crafts in heaps swarm 

through the street. 

1 Away from. 2 To accuse with clamour. 3 Injury. 



earl of suerey's poems. 10? 

Ne my declared foe wrought me all this reproach. 
By harm so looked for, it weigheth half the less. 
For though mine enemies hap had been for to 

prevail, 
I could have hid my face from venom of his eye. 
It was a friendly foe, by shadow of good will ; 
Mine old fere, 1 and dear friend, my guide that 

trapped me ; 
Where I was wont to fetch the cure of all my care, 
And in his bosom hide my secret zeal to God. 
With such sudden surprise, quick may him hell 

devour ; 
Whilst I invoke the Lord, whose power shall me 

defend, 
My prayer shall not cease, from that the sun des- 
cends, 
Till he his alt ure 2 win, and hide them in the sea, 
With words of hot effect, 3 that moveth from heart 

contrite, 
Such humble suit, Lord, cloth pierce thy patient 

ear. 
It was the Lord that brake the bloody compacts of 

those 
That pricked on with ire, to slaughter me and mine. 
The everlasting God, whose kingdom hath no end, 
Whom by no tale to dread he could divert from sin, 
The conscience unquiet he strikes with heavy hand, 
And proves their force in faith, whom he sware 

to defend. 
Butter falls not so soft as doth his patience long, 
And overpasseth fine oil running not half so 

smooth. 
1 Companion. 2 Altitude. 3 Affection; passion. 



108 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 

But when his sufferance finds that bridled wrath 

provokes, 
His threatened wrath he whets more sharp than 

tool can file. 
Friar ! whose harm and tongue presents the wicked 

sort, 
Of those false wolves, with coats which do their 

ravin hide ; 
That swear to me by heaven, the footstool of the 

Lord, 
Though force had hurt my fame, they did not touch 

my life. 
Such patching care I loath, as feeds the wealth 

with lies ; 
But in the other Psalm of David find I ease. 1 
J acta cur am tuam super Dominium ; et ipse te cnutriet, 



Domine, Dominus noster. Psalm viii. 

[HY name, Lord, how great, is found be- 
fore our sight ! 
It fills the earth, and spreads the air : the 
great works of thy might ! 
For even unto the heavens thy power hath given a 

place, 
And closed it above their heads ; a mighty, large, 
compass. 

1 This may refer to some other Psalm which was to have 
followed. 







EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 109 

Thy praise what cloud can hide, but it will shine 

again : 
Since young and tender sucking babes have power 

to shew it plain. 
r Which in despight of those that would thy glory 

hide, 
[Thou] hast put into such infants' mouths for to 

confound their pride. 
Wherefore I shall behold thy figur'd heaven so high, 
Which shews such prints of divers forms within the 

cloudy sky : 
As hills, and shapes of men ; eke beasts of sundry 

kind, 
Monstrous to our outward sight, and fancies of our 

mind. 
And eke the wanish moon, which sheens by night 

also ; 
And each one of the wandering stars, which after 

her do go. 
And how these keep their course ; and which are 

those that stands ; 
Because they be thy wondrous works, and labours 

of thy hands. 
But yet among all these I ask, ( W r hat thing is man ?' 
Whose turn to serve in his poor need this work 

Thou first began. 
Or what is Adam's son that bears his father's mark ? 
For whose delight and comfort eke Thou hast 

wrought all this work. 
I see thou mind'st him much, that dost reward 

him so : 
Being but earth, to rule the earth, whereon him- 
self doth go. 



110 EARL OF 

From angel's substance eke Thou mad'st him differ 

small ; 
Save one doth change his life awhile ; the other 

not at all. 
The sun and moon also Thou mad'st to give him 

light - 
And each one of the wandering stars to twinkle 

sparkles bright. 
The air to give him breath ; the water for his 

health ; 
The earth to bring forth grain and fruit, for to in- 
crease his wealth. 
And many metals too, for pleasure of the eye ; 
Which in the hollow sounded ground in privy veins 

do lie. 
The sheep to give his wool, to wrap his body in ; 
And for such other needful things, the ox to spare 

his skin. 
The horse even at his will to bear him to and fro ; 
And as him list each other beast to serve his turn also. 
The fishes of the sea likewise to feed him oft ; 
And eke the birds, whose feathers serve to make 

his sides lie soft. 
On whose head thou hast set a crown of glory too, 
To whom also thou didst appoint, that honour 

should be do. 
And thus thou mad'st him lord of all this work of 

thine ; 
Of man that goes, of beast that creeps, whose looks 

doth down decline ; 
Of fish that swim below, of fowls that fly on high, 
Of sea that finds the air his rain, and of the land 

so dry. 



Ill 

And underneath his feet, Thou hast set all this 

same ; 
To make him know, and plain confess, that mar- 
vellous is thy name. 
And, Lord, which art our Lord, how marvellous it 

is found 
The heavens do shew, the earth doth tell, and eke 

the world so round. 
Glory, therefore, be given to Thee first, which art 

Three ; 
And yet but One Almighty God, in substance and 

degree : 
As first it was when Thou the dark confused heap, 
Clotted in one, didst part in four ; which elements 

we clepe : x 
And as the same is now, even here within our time ; 
So- ever shall hereafter be, when we be filth and 

slime. 

1 We call. » MS. And. 



112 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 




THE SECOND BOOK OF VIRGIL'S ^ENEID. 1 

^HEY whisted 2 all, with fixed face attent, 
When prince ./Eneas from the royal seat 
Thus gan to speak. O Queen ! it is 
thy will 

I should renew a woe cannot be told : 
How that the Greeks did spoil, and overthrow 
The Phrygian wealth, and wailful realm of Troy : 
Those ruthful things that I myself beheld ; 
And whereof no small part fell to my share. 
Which to express, who could refrain from tears ? 
What Myrmidon ? or yet what Dolopes ? 
What stern Ulysses' waged soldier ? 
And lo ! moist night now from the welkin 3 falls ; 
And stars declining counsel us to rest. 
But since so great is thy delight to hear 
Of our mishaps, and Troye's last decay ; 
Though to record the same my mind abhors, 
And plaint eschews, yet thus will I begin. 

The Greeks' chieftains all irked 4 with the war 
Wherein they wasted had so many years, 

1 The first edition is entitled " Certain Bokes of Virgiles 
Aenseis turned into English meter by the right honorable 
lorde, Henry Earle of Surrey. Apud Ricardum Tottel. Cum 
priuilegio ad imprimendum solum, 1557." At the end, 
*' Imprinted at London in flete strete within Temple barre, 
at the sygne of the hand and starre, by Richard Tottell the 
xxi. day of June, An. 1557." 12mo. 

2 Were silent. 3 The skv. 4 Wearied. 



earl or suhrey's poems. 113 

And oft repuls'd by fatal destiny, 

A huge horse made, high raised like a hill, 

By the divine science of Minerva : 

Of cloven fir 1 compacted were his ribs ; 

For their return a feigned sacrifice : 

The fame whereof so wander'd it at point. 

In the dark bulk they clos'd bodies of men 

Chosen by lot, and did ens tuff by stealth 

The hollow womb with armed soldiers. 

There stands in sight an isle, hight Tenedon, 
Rich, and of fame, while Priam's kingdom stood; 
Now but a bay, and road, unsure for ship. 
Hither them secretly the Greeks withdrew, 
Shrouding themselves under the desert shore. 
And, weening 2 we they had been fled and gone, 
And with that wind had fet the land of Greece, 
Troy discharged her long continued dole. 
The gates cast up, we issued out to play, 
The Greekish camp desirous to behold, 
The places void, and the forsaken coasts. 
' Here Pyrrhus' band ; there fierce Achilles pight ; 
Here rode their ships ; there did their battles join/ 
Astonnied some the scatheful gift beheld, 
Behight by vow unto the chaste Minerve ; 
All wond'ring at the hugeness of the horse. 

And first of all Timcetes gan advise 
Within the walls to lead and draw the same ; 
And place it eke amid the palace court : 
Whether of guile, or Troye's fate it would. 
Capys, with some of judgment more discreet, 
Will'd it to drown ; or underset with flame 

1 Wood easily set on fire. 2 Supposing. 

I 



114 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 

The suspect present of the Greeks' deceit ; 
Or bore and gage the hollow caves uncouth. 
So diverse ran the giddy people's mind. 

Lo ! foremost of a rout that folio w'd him, 
Kindled Laocoon hasted from the tower, 
Crying far off: ( wretched citizens ! 
What so great kind of frenzy fretteth you ? 
Deem ye the Greeks our enemies to be gone ? 
Or any Greekish gifts can you suppose 
Devoid of guile ? Is so Ulysses known ? 
Either the Greeks are in this timber hid ; 
Or this an engine is to annoy our walls, 
To view our towers, and overwhelm our town. 
Here lurks some craft. GoodTroyans! give no trust 
Unto this horse ; for what so ever it be, 
I dread the Greeks ; yea ! when they offer gifts.' 
And with that word, with all his force a dart 
He lanced then into that crooked womb ; 
Which trembling stack, and shook within the side : 
Wherewith the caves gan hollowly resound. 
And, but for Fates, and for our blind forecast, 
The Greeks' device and guile had he descried ; 
Troy yet had stand, and Priam's towers so high. 

Therewith behold, whereas the Phrygian herds 
Brought to the king with clamour, all unknown 
A young man, bound his hands behind his back ; 
Who willingly had yielden prisoner, 
To frame his guile, and open Troye's gates 
Unto the Greeks ; with courage fully bent, 
And mind djetermed either of the twain ; 
To work his feat, or willing yield to death. 
Near him, to gaze, the Trojan youth gan flock, 
And strave who most might at the captive scorn. 



EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 115 

The Greeks' deceit behold, and by one proof 
Imagine all the rest. 

For in the press as he unarmed stood 
"With troubled cheer, and Phrygian routs beset ; 
' Alas V quod he, ( what earth now, or what seas 
May me receive ? Catiff, what rests me now? 
For whom in Greece doth no abode remain. 
The Trojans eke offended seek to wreak 
Their heinous wrath, with shedding of my blood.' 

With this regret our hearts from rancour moved. 
The bruit appeas'd, we ask'd him of his birth, 
What news he brought ; what hope made him to 
yield. 

Then he, all dread removed, thus began : 
' King ! I shall, what ever me betide, 
Say but the truth : ne first will me deny 
A Grecian born; for though- fortune hath made 
Sinon a wretch, she cannot make him false. 
If ever came unto your ears the name, 
Nobled by fame, of the sage Palamede, 
Whom trait'rously the Greeks condemn'd to die ; 
Guiltless, by wrongful doom, for that he did 
Dissuade the wars ; whose death they now lament ; 
Underneath him my father, bare of wealth, 
Into his band young, and near of his blood, 
In my prime years unto the war me sent. 
While that by fate his state in stay did stand, 
And when his realm did flourish by advice, 
Of glory, then, we bare some fame and bruit. 
But since his death by false Ulysses' sleight, 
(I speak of things to all men well beknown) 
A dreary life in doleful plaint I led, 
Repining at my guiltless friend's mischance. 



116 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 

Ne could I, fool ! refrain my tongue from threats, 
That if my chance were ever to return 
Victor to Arge, to follow my revenge. 
With such sharp words procured I great hate. 
Here sprang my harm. Ulysses ever sith 
With new found crimes began me to affray. 
In common ears false rumours gan he sow : 
Weapons of wreak his guilty mind gan seek. 

Ne rested aye till he by Calchas mean 

But whereunto these thankless tales in vain 
Do I rehearse, and linger forth the time, 
In like estate if all the Greeks ye price ? 
It is enough ye here rid me at once. 
Ulysses, Lord ! how he would this rejoice ! 
Yea, and either Atride would bye 1 it dear.' 

This kindled us more eager to inquire, 
And to demand the cause ; without suspect 
Of so great mischief thereby to ensue, 
Or of Greeks' craft. He then with forged words 
And quivering limbs, thus took his tale again. 

' Tha Greeks ofttimes intended their return 
From Troye town, with long w r ars all ytired, 
For to dislodge; which, would God ! they had done. 
But oft the winter storms of raging seas, 
And oft the boisterous winds did them to stay; 
And chiefly, when of clinched ribs of fir 
This horse was made, the storms roared in the air. 
Then we in doubt to Phoebus' temple sent 
Euripilus, to weet 2 the prophesy. 
From whence he brought these woful news again. 
With blood, Greeks ! and slaughter of a maid, 

1 Abide, or suffer. - To learn. 



EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 117 

Ye peas'd the winds, when first ye came to Troy. 
With blood likewise ye must seek your return : 
A Greekish soul must oiler 'd be therefore.' 

6 But when this sound had pierc'd the peoples' 
ears, 
With sudden fear astonied were their minds ; 
The chilling cold did overrun their bones, 
To whom that fate was shap'd, whom Phoebus 

would.' 
Ulysses then amid the press brings in 
Calchas with noise, and will'd him to discuss 
The Gods' intent. Then some gan deem to me 
The cruel wreak of him that fram'd the craft; 
Foreseeing secretly what would ensue. 
In silence then, yshrowding him from sight, 
But days twice five he whisted ; and refused 
To death, by speech, to further any wight. 
At last, as forced by false Ulysses' cry, 
Of purpose he brake forth, assigning me 
To the altar ; whereto they granted all : 
And that, that erst each one dread to himself, 
Returned all unto my wretched death. 
And now at hand drew near the woful day. 
All things prepar'd w T herewith to offer me ; 
Salt, corn, fillets, my temples for to bind. 
I scap'd the death, I grant ! and brake the bands, 
And lurked in a marish all the night 
Among the ooze, while they did set their sails ; 
If it so be that they indeed so did. 
Now rests no hope my native land to see, 
My children dear, nor long desired sire ; 
On whom, perchance, they shall wreak my escape : 
Those harmless wights shall for my fault be slain. 



118 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 

' Then, by the gods, to whom all truth is known; 
By faith unnTd, if any anywhere 
With mortal folk remains ; I thee beseech, 
king, thereby rue on my travail great : 
Pity a wretch that guiltless suffereth wrong.' 

Life to these tears with pardon eke, we grant. 
And Priam first himself commands to loose 
His gyves, his bands ; and friendly to him said : 
i Whoso thou art, learn to forget the Greeks : 
Henceforth be ours ; and answer me with truth : 
Whereto was wrought the mass of this huge horse ? 
Whose the devise ? and whereto should it tend ? 
What holy vow ? or engine for the wars ?' 

Then he, instruct with wiles and Greekish craft, 
His loosed hands lift upward to the stars : 
6 Ye everlasting lamps ! I testify, 
Whose power divine may not be violate ; 
Th' altar, and sword/ quoth he, ' that I have scap'd; 
Ye sacred bands ! I wore as yielden host ; 
Lawful be it for me to break mine oath 
To Greeks ; lawful to hate their nation ; 
Lawful be it to sparkle in the air 
Their secrets all, whatso they keep in close : 
For free am I from Greece and from their laws. 
So be it, Troy, and saved by me from scathe, 
Keep faith with me, and stand to thy behest ; 
If I speak truth, and opening things of weight, 
For grant of life requite thee large amends. 

6 The Greeks' whole hope of undertaken war 
In Pallas' help consisted evermore. 
But sith the time that wicked Diomed, 
Ulysses eke, that forger of all guile, 
Adventur'd from the holy sacred fane 



EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 119 

For to bereave Dame Pallas' fatal form, 
And slew the watches of the ehiefest tower, 
And then away the holy statue stole • 
(That were so bold with hands embrued in blood, 
The virgin Goddess veils for to defile) 
Sith that, their hope gan fail, their hope to fall, 
Their pow'r appair, their Goddess' grace withdraw ; 
Which with no doubtful signs she did declare. 
Scarce was the statue to our tents ybrought, 
But she gan stare with sparkled eyes of flame ; 
Along her limbs the salt sweat trickled down : 
Yea thrice herself, a hideous thing to tell ! 
In glances bright she glittered from the ground, 
Holding in hand her targe and quivering spear. 
Calchas by sea then bade us haste our flight : 
Whose engines might not break the walls of Troy, 
Unless at Greece they would renew their lots, 
Restore the God that they by sea had brought 
In warped keels. To Arge sith they be come, 
They 'pease their Gods, and war afresh prepare. 
And cross the seas unlooked for eftsoons 
They will return. This order Calchas set. 

'This figure made they for th' aggrieved God, 
In Pallas' stead; to cleanse their heinous fault. 
Which mass he willed to be reared high 
Toward the skies, and ribbed all with oak, 
So that your gates ne wall might it receive ; 
Ne yet your people might defensed be 
By the good zeal of old devotion. 
For if your hands did Pallas' gift defile, 
To Priam's realm great mischief should befall : 
Which fate the Gods first on himself return. 
But had your own hands brought it in your town, 



120 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 

Asia should pass, and carry offer'd war 

In Greece, e'en to the walls of Pelop's town ; 

And we and ours that destiny endure.' 

By such like wiles of Sinon, the forsworn, 
His tale with us did purchase credit ; some, 
Trapt by deceit ; some, forced by his tears ; 
Whom neither Diomed, nor great Achille, 
Nor ten years war, ne a thousand sail could daun fc. 

Us caitiffs then a far more dreadful chance 
Befel, that troubled our unarmed breasts. 
Whiles Laocoon, that chosen was by lot 
Neptunus' priest, did sacrifice a bull 
Before the holy altar ; suddenly 
From Tenedon, behold ! in circles great 
By the calm seas come fleeting adders twain, 
Which plied towards the shore (I loathe to tell) 
With reared breast lift up above the seas : 
Whose bloody crests aloft the waves were seen ; 
The hinder part swam hidden in the flood. 
Their grisly backs were linked manifold. 
With sound of broken waves they gat the strand, 
With glowing eyen, tainted w 7 ith blood and fire ; 
Whose waltring tongues did lick their hissing 

mouths. 
We fled away ; our face the blood forsook : 
But they with gait direct to Lacon ran. 
.And first of all each serpent doth enwrap 
The bodies small of his two tender sons ; 
Whose wretched limbs they bit, and fed thereon. 
Then raught they him, who had his weapon caught 
To rescue them ; twice winding him about, 
W r ith folded knots and circled tails, his waist : 
Their scaled backs did compass twice his neck, 



EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 121 

With reared heads aloft and stretched throats. 
He with his hands strave to unloose the knots, 
(Whose sacred fillets all-besprinkled were 
With filth of gory blood, and venom rank) 
And to the stars such dreadful shouts he sent, 
Like to the sound the roaring bull forth lows, 
Which from the halter wounded doth astart, 
The swerving axe when he shakes from his neck. 
The serpents twine, with hasted trail they glide 
To Pallas' temple, and her towers of height : 
Under the feet of which the Goddess stern, 
Hidden behind her target's boss they crept. 
New gripes of dread then pierce our trembling 

breasts. 
They said ; Lacon's deserts had dearly bought 
His heinous deed ; that pierced had with steel 
The sacred bulk, and thrown the wicked lance. 
The people cried with sundry greeing shouts 
To bring the horse to Pallas' temple blive ; l 
In hope thereby the Goddess' wrath t' appease. 
We cleft the walls and closures of the town ; 
Whereto all help : and underset the feet 
With sliding rolls, and bound his neck with ropes, 
This fatal gin thus overclamb our walls, 
Stuft with arm'd men ; about the which there ran 
Children and maids, 2 that holy carols sang ; 
And well were they whose hands might touch the 

cords ! 
With threat'ning cheer thus slided through our 

town 
The subtle tree, to Pallas' temple-ward. 

1 Immediately. 3 That is, boys and girls. 



122 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 

native land ! Ilion ! and of the gods 

The mansion place ! warlike walls of Troy ! 

Four times it stopt in th' entry of our gate ; 

Four times the harness 1 clatter'd in the womb. 

But we go on, unsound of memory, 

And blinded eke by rage persever still : 

This fatal monster in the fane we place. 

Cassandra then, inspired with Phoebus sprite, 
Her prophet's lips, yet never of us 'lieved, 
Disclosed eft ; forespeaking things to come. 
We wretches, lo ! that last day of our life 
With boughs of fest 2 the town, and temples deck. 

With this the sky gan whirl about the sphere : 
The cloudy night gan thicken from the sea, 
With mantles spread that cloaked earth and skies, 
And eke the treason of the Greekish guile. 
The watchmen lay dispers'd to take their rest ; 
Whose wearied limbs sound sleep had then op- 

press'd : 
When, well in order comes the Grecian fleet 
From Tenedon, toward the coasts well known, 
By friendly silence of the quiet moon. 
When the king's ship put forth his mark of fire, 
Sinon, preserved by froward destiny, 
Let forth the Greeks enclosed in the womb : 
The closures eke of pine by stealth unpinn'd, 
Whereby the Greeks restored were to air. 
With joy down hasting from the hollow tree, 
With cords let down did slide unto the ground 
The great captains ; Sthenel, and Thessander, 
And fierce Ulysses, Athamas, and Thoas j 
Machaon first, and then king Menelae ; 

1 Arms, armour. 2 Mirth. 



EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 123 

Opeas eke that did the engine forge. 
By cords let fall fast 'gan they slide adown, 
And straight invade the town yburied then 
With wine and sleep. And first the watch is slain: 
Then gates unfold to let their fellows in, 
They join themselves with the conjured bands. 
It was the time when granted from the Gods 
The first sleep creeps most sweet in weary folk. 
Lo ! in my dream before mine eyes, methought, 
With rueful cheer I saw where Hector stood, 
(Out of whose eyes there gushed streams of tears) 
Drawn at a car as he of late had be, 
Distained with bloody dust, whose feet were bowln 1 
With the strait cords wherewith they haled him. 
Ay me, what one ? that Hector how unlike, 
Which erst returned clad with Achilles' spoils ; 
Or when he threw into the Greekish ships 
The Trojan flame ! so was his beard defiled, 
His crisped locks all clust'red with his blood, 
With all such wounds, as many he received 
About the walls of that his native town. 
Whom frankly thus, methought, I spake unto, 
With bitter tears and doleful deadly voice : 
c Troyan light ! only hope of thine ! 
What lets so long thee staid ? or from what coasts, 
Our most desired Hector, dost thou come ? 
Whom, after slaughter of thy many friends, 
And travail of the people, and thy town, 
All- wearied lord ! how gladly we behold ! 
What sorry chance hath stain'd thy lively face ? 
Or why see I these wounds, alas ! so wide ?' 
He answer'd nought, nor in my vain demands 
1 Swollen. 



124 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 

Abode ; but from the bottom of his breast 
Sighing he said : ' Flee, flee, goddess' son ! 
And save thee from the fury of this flame. 
Our en'mies now are masters of the walls ; 
And Troye town now falleth from the top. 
Sufficeth that is done for Priam's reign. 
If force might serve to succour Troye town, 
This right hand well might have been her defence. 
But Troye now commendeth to thy charge 
Her holy r cliques, and her privy Gods. 
Them join to thee, as fellows of thy fate. 
Large walls rear thou for them : for so thou shalt, 
After time spent in th' overwand'red flood.' 
This said, he brought forth Vesta in his hands ; 
Her fillets eke, and everlasting flame. 

In this mean while with diverse plaint, the town 
Throughout was spread ; and louder more and 

more 
The din resounded : with rattling of arms, 
Although mine old Father Anchises' house 
Removed stood, with shadow hid of trees, 
I waked : therewith to the house-top I clamb, 
And hark'ning stood I : like as when the flame 
Lights in the corn, by drift of boisterous wind ; 
Or the swift stream that driveth from the hill, 
Roots up the fields, and presseth the ripe corn, 
And ploughed ground, and overwhelms the grove : 
The silly herdman all astonnied stands, 
From the high rock while he doth hear the sound. 
Then the Greeks' faith, then their deceit ap- 
peared. 
Of Deiphobus the palace large and great 
Fell to the ground, all overspread with flash. 



EARL or surrey's POEMS. 125 

His next neighbour Ucalegon afire : 
The Sygean seas did glister all with flame. 
Up sprang the cry of men, and trumpets blast. 
Then, as distraught, I did my armour on ; 
Ne could I tell yet whereto arms avail'd. 
But with our feres to throng out from the press 
Toward the tower, our hearts brent with desire. 
Wrath prick' d us forth ; and unto us it seemed 
A seemly thing to die arm'd in the field. 

Wherewith Panthus scap'd from the Greekish 

darts, 
Otreus' son, Phoebus' priest, brought in hand 
The sacred reliques, and the vanquish'd Gods : 
And in his hand his little nephew led; 
And thus, as phren'tic, to our gates he ran. 
6 Panthus/ quod I, ' in what estate stand we ? 
Or for refuge what fortress shall we take ?' 
Scarce spake I this, when wailing thus he said : 
' The later day and fate of Troy is come ; 
The which no plaint or prayer may avail. 
Troyans we were ; and Troye was sometime, 
And of great fame the Teucrian glory erst : 
Fierce Jove to Greece hath now transposed all. 
The Greeks are lords over this fired town. 
Yonder huge horse, that stands amid our walls, 
Sheds armed men : and Sinon, victor now, 
With scorn of us doth set all things on flame. 
And, rushed in at our unfolded gates, 
Are thousands mo' than ever came from Greece. 
And some with weapons watch the narrow streets ; 
With bright swords drawn, to slaughter ready 

bent. 
And scarce the watches of the gate began 



126 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 

Them to defend, and with blind fight resist.' 
Through Pan thus' words, and lightning of the 
Gods, 
Amid the flame and arms ran I in press, 
As fury guided me, and whereas I had heard 
The cry greatest that made the air resound. 
Into our band then fell old Iphytus, 
And Bypheus, that met us by moonlight; 
Dymas and Hypanis joining to our side, 
With young Chorebus, Mygdonius' son ; 
Which in those days at Troy did arrive, 
(Burning with rage of dame Cassandra's love) 
In Priam's aid, and rescue of his town. 
Unhappy he ! that would no credit give 
Unto his spouse's words of prophecy. 

Whom when I saw, assembled in such wise, 
So desperately the battle to desire ; 
Then furthermore thus said I unto them : 
' ! ye young men, of courage stout in vain ! 
For nought ye strive to save the burning town. 
What cruel fortune hath betid, ye see ! 
The Gods out of the temples all are fled, 
Through whose might long this empire was main- 

tain'd : 
Their altars eke are left both waste and void. 
But if your will be bent with me to prove 
That uttermost, that now may us befall ; 
Then let us die, and run amid our foes. 
To vanquish'd folk, despair is only hope.' 

With this the young men's courage did increase ; 
And through the dark, like to the ravening wolves 
Whom raging fury of their empty maws 
Drives from their den, leaving with hungry throats 



EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 127 

Their whelps behind; among our foes we ran. 
Upon their swords, unto apparent death ; 
Holding alway the chief street of the town, 
Cover'd with the close shadows of the night. 

Who can express the slaughter of that night ? 
Or tell the number of the corpses slain ? 
Or can in tears bewail them worthily? 
The ancient famous city falleth down, 
That many years did hold such seignory. 
With senseless bodies every street is spread, 
Each palace, and sacred porch of the gods. 
Nor yet alone the Troyan blood was shed* 
Manhood ofttimes into the vanquished breast 
Eeturns, w r hereby some victors Greeks are slain. 
Cruel complaints, and terror everywhere, 
And plenty of grisly pictures of death. 

And first with us Androgeus there met, 
Fellowed l with a swarming rout of Greeks, 
Deeming us, unware, of that fellowship, 
With friendly words whom thus he eall'd unto : 
6 Haste ye, my friends ! what sloth hath tarried you? 
Your feres now sack and spoil the burning Troy : 
From the tall ships where ye but newly come.' 

When he had said, and heard no answer made 
To him again, whereto he might give trust ; 
Finding himself chanced amid his foes, 
'Maz'd he withdrew his foot back with his word : 
Like him, that wand'ring in the bushes thick, 
Treads on the adder with his reckless foot, 
Reared for wrath, swelling her speckled neck, 
Dismay'd, gives back all suddenly for fear : 

1 Perhaps "followed." 



128 

Androgens so fear'd of that sight stept back, 
And we gan rush amid the thickest rout ; 
When, here and there we did them overthrow, 
Stricken with dread, unskilful of the place. 
Our first labour thus lucked well with us. 

Chorebus then, encouraged by his chance, 
Rejoicing said : < Hold forth the way of health, 
My feres, that hap and manhood hath us taught. 
Change we our shields ; the Greeks' arms do we on : 
Craft, or manhood, with foes what recks it which? 
The slain to us their armour they shall yield.' 
And with that word Androgeus' crested helm 
And the rich arms of his shield did he on ; 
A Greekish sword he girded by his side : 
Like gladly Dimas and Ripheus did : 
The whole youth gan them clad in the new spoils. 
Mingled with Greeks, for no good luck to us, 
We went, and gave many onsets that night, 
And many a Greek we sent to Pluto's court. 
Other there fled and hasted to their ships, 
And to their coasts of safeguard ran again. 
And some there were for shameful cowardry, 
Clamb up again unto the hugy horse, 
And did them hide in his well knowen womb. 

Ay me ! bootless it is for any wight 
To hope on aught against will of the gods. 
Lo ! where Cassandra, Priam's daughter dear, 
From Pallas' church was drawn with sparkled tress, 
Lifting in vain her flaming eyen to heaven ; 
Her eyen, for fast her tender wrists were bound. 
Which sight Chorebus raging could not bear, 
Reckless of death, but thrust amid the throng ; 
And after we through thickest of the swords. 



EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 129 

Here were we first y-batter'd with the darts 
Of our own feres, from the high temples' top : 
Whereby of us great slaughter did ensue, 
Mistaken by our Greekish arms and crests. 
Then flock'd the Greeks moved with wrath and ire, 
Of the Virgin from them so rescued. 
The fell Ajax ; and either Atrides, 
And the great band cleped the Dolopes. 
As wrestling winds, out of dispersed whirl 
Befight themselves, the west with southern blast, 
And gladsome east proud of Aurora's horse ; 
The woods do whiz ; and foamy Nereus 
Raging in fury, with three forked mace 
From bottom's depth doth welter up the seas ; 
So came the Greeks. And such, as by deceit 
We sparkled erst in shadow of the night, 
And drave about our town, appeared first : 
Our feigned shields and weapons then they found, 
And, by sound, our discording voice they knew. 
We went to wreck with number overlaid. 
And by the hand of Peneleus first 
Chorebus fell before the altar dead 
Of armed Pallas ; and Rhipheus eke, 
The justest man among the Troians all, 
And he that best observed equity. 
But otherwise it pleased now the Gods. 
There Hypanis, and Dymas, both were slain ; 
Through pierced with the weapons of their feres. 
Nor thee, Panthus, when thou wast overthrown, 
Pity, nor zeal of good devotion, 
Nor habit yet of Phoebus hid from scath. 

Ye Troyan ashes ! and last flames of mine ! 
I call in witness, that at your last fall 

K 



130 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 

I fled no stroke of any Greekish sword. 
And if the fates would I had fallen in fight, 
That with my hand I did deserve it well. 

With this from thence I was recoiled back 
With Iphytus and Pelias alone : 
Iphytus weak, and feeble all for age ; 
Pelias lamed by Ulysses' hand. 
To Priam's palace cry did call us then. 
Here was the fight right hideous to behold ; 
As though there had no battle been but there, 
Or slaughter made elsewhere throughout the town. 
A fight of rage and fury there we saw. 
The Greeks toward the palace rushed fast, 
And cover'd with engines the gates beset, 
And reared up ladders against the walls ; 
Under the windows scaling by their steps, 
Fenced with shields in their left hands, whereon 
They did receive the darts; while their right hands 
Griped for hold th' embattle of the wall. 
The Troyans on the other part rend down 
The turrets high, and eke the palace roof; 
With such weapons they shope them to defend, 
Seeing all lost, now at the point of death. 
The gilt spars, and the beams then threw they 

down; 
Of old fathers the proud and royal works. 
And with drawn swords some did beset the gates, 
Which they did watch, and keep in routs full thick. 
Our sprites restor'd to rescue the king's house, 
To help them, and to give the vanquish'd strength. 

A postern with a blind wicket there was, 
A common trade to pass through Priam's house ; 
On the back side whereof waste houses stood : 



earl of Surrey's poems. 131 

Which way eft-sithes, 1 while that our kingdom 

dured, 
Th' infortunate Andromache alone 
Kesorted to the parents of her make ; 
With young Astyanax, his grandsire to see. 
Here passed I up to the highest tower, 
From whence the wretched Troyans did throw 

down 
Darts, spent in waste. Unto a turret then 
We stept, the which stood in a place aloft, 
The top whereof did reach well near the stars ; 
Where we were wont all Troye to behold, 
The Greekish navy, and their tents also. 
With instruments of iron gan we pick, 
To seek where we might find the joining shrunk 
From that high seat; which we razed, and threw 

down : 
Which falling, gave forthwith a rushing sound, 
And large in breadth on Greekish routs it light. 
But soon another sort stept in their stead ; 
No stone unthrown, nor yet no dart uncast. 

Before the gate stood Pyrrhus in the porch 
Rejoicing in his darts, with glittering arms ; 
Like to th' adder with venemous herbes fed, 
Whom cold winter all bolne, hid under ground ; 
And shining bright, when she her slough had slung, 
Her slipper back doth roll, w^ith forked tongue 
And raised breast, lift up against the sun. 
With that together came great Periphas ; 
Automedon eke, that guided had some time 
Achilles' horse, now Pyrrhus armour bare ; 
And eke with him the warlike Scyrian youth 
1 Oft-times. 



132 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 

Assail'd the house ; and threw flame to the top. 
And he an axe before the foremost raught, 
Wherewith he gan the strong gates hew, and break ; 
From whence he beat the staples out of brass, 
He brake the bars, and through the timber pierc'd 
So large a hole, whereby they might discern 
The house, the court, and secret chambers eke 
Of Priamus, and ancient kings of Troy ; 
And armed foes in th' entry of the gate. 

But the palace within confounded was, 
With wailing, and with rueful shrieks and cries ; 
The hollow halls did howl of women's plaint : 
The clamour strake up to the golden stars. 
The fray'd 1 mothers, wandering through the wide 

house, 
Embracing pillars, did them hold and kiss. 
Pyrrhus assaileth with his father's might ; 
Whom the closures ne keepers might hold out. 
With often pushed ram the gate did shake ; 
The posts beat down, removed from their hooks : 
By force they made the way, and th' entry brake. 
And now the Greeks let in, the foremost slew : 
And the large palace with soldiers gan to fill. 
Not so fiercely doth overflow the fields 
The foaming flood, that breaks out of his banks ; 
Whose rage of waters bears away what heaps 
Stand in his way, the cotes, and eke the herds. 
As in th' entry of slaughter furious 
I saw Pyrrhus, and either Atrides. 

There Hecuba I saw, with a hundred mo' 
Of her sons' wives, and Priam at the altar, 

1 Frightened. 



EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 133 

Sprinkling with blood his flame of sacrifice. 

Fifty bed-chambers of his children's wives, 

With loss of so great hope of his offspring, 

The pillars eke proudly beset with gold, 

And with the spoils of other nations, 

Fell to the ground : and what so that with flame 

Untouched was, the Greeks did all possess. 

Percase 1 you would ask what was Priam's fate ? 
When of his taken town he saw the chance, 
And the gates of his palace beaten down, 
His foes amid his secret chambers eke : 
Th' old man in vain did on his shoulders then, 
Trembling for age, his cuirass long disused : 
His bootless sword he girded him about ; 
And ran amid his foes, ready to die. 

Amid the court, under the heaven, all bare, 
A great altar there stood, by which there grew 
An old laurel tree, bowing thereunto, 
Which with his shadow did embrace the gods. 
Here Hecuba, with her young daughters all 
About the altar swarmed were in vain ; 
Like doves, that flock together in the storm, 
The statues of the Gods embracing fast. 
But when she saw Priam had taken there 
His armour, like as though he had been young : 
6 What furious thought my wretched spouse/ 

quod she, 
6 Did move thee now such weapons for to wield ? 
Why hastest thou ? This time doth not require 
Such succour, ne yet such defenders now : 
No, though Hector my son were here again. 

1 Bv chance. 



134 

Come hither ; this altar shall save us all : 
Or we shall die together.' Thus she said. 
Wherewith she drew him back to her, and set 
The aged man down in the holy seat. 

But lo ! Polites, one of Priam's sons, 
Escaped from the slaughter of Pyrrhus, 
Comes fleeing through the weapons of his foes, 
Searching, all wounded, the long galleries 
And the void courts; whom Pyrrhus all in rage 
Followed fast to reach a mortal wound • 
And now in hand, well near strikes with his spear. 
Who fleeing forth till he came now in sight 
Of his parents, before their face fell down 
Yielding the ghost with flowing streams of blood. 
Priamus then, although he were half dead, 
Might not keep in his wrath, nor yet his words ; 
But crieth out : ' For this thy wicked work, 
And boldness eke such thing to enterprise, 
If in the heavens any justice be, 
That of such things takes any care or keep, 
According thanks the Gods may yield to thee ; 
And send thee eke thy just deserved hire, 
That made me see the slaughter of my child, 
And with his blood defile the father's face. 
But he, by whom thou feign'st thyself begot, 
Achilles, was to Priam not so stern. 
For, lo ! he tend'ring my most humble suit, 
The right, and faith, my Hector's bloodless corpse 
Render'd, for to be laid in sepulture ; 
And sent me to my kingdom home again.' 

Thus said the aged man, and therewithal, 
Forceless he cast his weak unwieldy dart : 
Which repuls'd from the brass where it gave dint, 



EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 135 

Without sound, hung vainly in the shield's boss. 
Quod Pyrrhus : ' Then thou shalt this thing re- 
port : 
On message to Pelide my father go ; 
Shew unto him my cruel deed , and how 
Neoptolem is swerved out of kind. 
Now shalt thou die/ quod he. And with that word 
At the altar him trembling 'gan he draw 
Wallowing through the bloodshed of his son : 
And his left hand all clasped in his hair, 
With his right arm drew forth his shining sword, 
Which in his side he thrust up to the hilts. 
Of Priamus this was the fatal fine, 
The woful end that was allotted him, 
When he had seen his palace all on flame, 
With ruin of his Troyan turrets eke. 
That royal prince of Asia, which of late 
Reign' d over so many peoples and realms, 
Like a great stock now lieth on the shore ; 
His head and shoulders parted been in twain : 
A body now without renown and fame. 

Then first in me enter'd the grisly fear : 
Dismay' d I was. Wherewith came to my mind 
The image eke of my dear father, when 
I thus beheld the king of equal age, 
Yield up the spirit with wounds so cruelly. 
Then thought I of Creusa left alone ; 
And of my house in danger of the spoil, 
And the estate of young lulus eke. 
I looked back to seek what number then 
I might discern about me of my feres : 
But wearied they had left me all alone. 
Some to the ground were lopen from above, 



136 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 

Some in the flame their irked bodies cast. 

There was no mo' but I left of them all, 
When that I saw in Vesta's temple sit, 
Dame Helen, lurking in a secret place ; 
(Such light the flame did give as I went by, 
While here and there I cast mine eyen about :) 
For she in dread lest that the Troians should 
Revenge on her the ruin of their walls ; 
And of the Greeks the cruel wreaks also ; 
The fury eke of her forsaken make, 
The common bane of Troy, and eke of Greece ! 
Hateful she sat beside the altars hid. 
Then boil'd my breast with flame, and burning 

wrath, 
To revenge my town, unto such ruin brought ; 
With worthy pains on her to work my will. 
Thought I : " Shall she pass to the land of Sparte 
All safe, and see Mycene her native land, 
And like a queen return with victory 
Home to her spouse, her parents, and children, 
Followed with a train of Troyan maids, 
And served with a band of Phrygian slaves ; 
A Priam eke with iron murder'd thus, 
And Troye town consumed all with flame, 
Whose shore hath been so oft for-bathed in blood ? 
No ! no ! for though on women the revenge 
Unseemly is ; such conquest hath no fame : 
To give an end unto such mischief yet 
My just revenge shall merit worthy praise ; 
And quiet eke my mind, for to be wroke l 
On her which was the causer of this flame, 
And satisfy the cinder of my feres/ 
1 Avenged. 



EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 137 

With furious mind while I did argue thus, 
My blessed mother then appear 'd to me, 
Whom erst so bright mine eyes had never seen, 
And with pure light she glistred in the night, 
Disclosing her in form a goddess like, 
As she doth seem to such as dwell in heaven. 
My right hand then she took, and held it fast, 
And with her rosy lips thus did she say : 
1 Son ! what fury hath thus provoked thee 
To such untamed wrath ? what ragest thou ? 
Or where is now become the care of us ? 
Wilt thou not first go see where thou hast left 
Anchises, thy father fordone with age ? 
Doth Creusa live, and Ascanius thy son ? 
Whom now the Greekish bands have round beset : 
And were they not defenced by my cure, 
Flame had them ranght, 1 and en'mies' sword ere 

this. 
Not Helen's beauty hateful unto thee, 
Nor blamed Paris yet, but the Gods' wrath 
Reft you this wealth, and overthrew your town. 
Behold ! (and I shall now the cloud remove, 
Which overcast thy mortal sight doth dim ; 
Whose moisture doth obscure all things about : 
And fear not thou to do thy mother's will. 
Nor her advice refuse thou to perform :) 
Here, where thou see'st the turrets overthrown, 
Stone beat from stone, smoke rising mixt with dust, 
Neptunus there shakes with his mace the walls, 
And eke the loose foundations of the same, 
And overwhelms the whole town from his seat : 
And cruel Juno with the foremost here 
1 Reached. 



138 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 

Doth keep the gate that Scea cleped 1 is, 

Near woode 2 for wrath, whereas she stands, and calls 

In harness bright the Greeks out of their ships : 

And in the turrets high behold where stands 

Bright shining Pallas, all in warlike weed, 

And with her shield, where Gorgon's head appears : 

And Jupiter, my father, distributes 

Availing strength, and courage to the Greeks ; 

Yet overmore, against the Troyan power 

He doth provoke the rest of all the Gods. 

Flee then, my son, and give this travail end ; 

Ne shall I thee forsake, in safeguard till 

I have thee brought unto thy father's gate.' 

This did she say : and therewith gan she hide 

Herself, in shadow of the close night. 

Then dreadful figures gan appear to me, 
And great Gods eke aggrieved with our town. 
I saw Troye fall down in burning gledes ; 
Neptunus town, clean razed from the soil. 
Like as the elm forgrown in mountains high, 
Round hewen with axe, that husbandmen 
With thick assaults strive to tear up, doth- threat ; 
And hack'd beneath trembling doth bend his top, 
Till yold 3 with strokes, giving the latter crack, 
Rent from the height, with ruin it doth fall. 

With this I went, and guided by a God 
I passed through my foes, and eke the flame : 
Their weapons and the fire eke gave me place. 
And when that I was come before the gates, 
And ancient building of my father's house ; 
My father, whom I hoped to convey 
To the next hills, and did him thereto 'treat, 
1 Called. 2 Furious. 3 Yielded. 



earl of Surrey's poems. 139 

Refused either to prolong his life, 

Or bide exile after the fall of Troy. 

1 All ye/ quod he, 'in whom young blood is fresh, 

Whose strength remains entire and in full power, 

Take ye your flight. 

For if the Gods my life would have prorogued, 

They had reserved for me this wonning place. 1 

It was enough, alas ! and eke too much, 

To see the town of Troy thus razed once ; 

To have lived after the city taken. 

When ye have said, this corpse laid out forsake ; 

My hand shall seek my death, and pity shall 

Mine en'mies move, or else hope of my spoil. 

As for my grave, I weigh the loss but light : 

For I my years, disdainful to the Gods, 

Have lingered forth, unable to all needs, 

Since that the sire of Gods and king of men 

Strake me with thunder, and with levening blast.' 

Such things he gan rehearse, thus firmly bent : 

But we besprent with tears, my tender son, 

And eke my sweet Creusa, with the rest 

Of the household, my father 'gan beseech, 

Not so with him to perish all at once, 

Nor so to yield unto the cruel fate : 

Which he refused, and stack to his intent. 

Driven I was to harness then again, 
Miserably my death for to desire. 
For what advice, or other hope was left ? 
' Father ! thought'st thou that I ma}^ once remove,' 
Quod I, ' a foot, and leave thee here behind ? 
May such a wrong pass from a father's mouth ? 
If God's will be, that nothing here be saved 
1 Dwelling-place. 



140 earl of Surrey's poems. 

Of this great town, and thy mind bent to join 
Both thee and thine to ruin of this town : 
The way is plain this death for to attain. 
Pyrrhus shall come besprent with Priam's blood, 
That gor'd the son before the father's face, 
And slew the father at the altar eke. 
sacred Mother ! was it then for this 
That you me led through flame, and weapons sharp, 
That I might in my secret chamber see 
Mine en'mies ; and Ascanius my son, 
My father, with Creusa my sweet wife, 
Murder'd, alas ! the one in th' others' blood ? 
Why, servants ! then, bring me my arms again. 
The latter day us vanquished doth call. 
Render me now to the Greeks' sight again : 
And let me see the fight begun of new ; 
We shall not all unwroken 1 die this day.' 
About me then I girt my sword again, 
And eke my shield on my left shoulder cast, 
And bent me so to rush out of the house. 
Lo ! in my gate my spouse, clasping my feet, 
For against his father young lulus set. 
' If thou wilt go/ quod she, ' and spill thyself, 
Take us with thee in all that may betide. 
But as expert if thou in arms have set 
Yet any hope, then first this house defend, 
Whereas thy son, and eke thy father dear, 
And I, sometime thine own dear wife, are left.' 
Her shrill loud voice with plaint thus fill'd the 

house ; 
When that a sudden monstrous marvel fell : 
For in their sight, and woful parents' arms, 
1 Un revenged. 



EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 141 

Behold a light out of the button sprang 

That in tip of lulus cap did stand ; 

With gentle touch whose harmless flame did shine 

Upon his hair, about his temples spread. 

And we afraid, trembling for dreadful fear, 

Bet out the fire from his blazing tress, 

And with water 'gan quench the sacred flame. 

Anchises glad his eyen lift to the stars ; 
With hands his voice to heaven thus he bent. 
1 If by prayer, almighty Jupiter, 
Inclined thou mayst be, behold us then 
Of ruth 1 at least, if we so much deserve. 
Grant eke thine aid, Father ! confirm this thing. 

Scarce had the old man said, when that the 
heavens 
With sudden noise thunder'd on the left hand : 
Out of the sky, by the dark night there fell 
A blazing star, dragging a brand or flame, 
Which with much light gliding on the house top, 
In the forest of Ida hid her beams ; 
The which full bright cendleing 2 a furrow, shone, 
By a long tract appointing us the way ; 
And round about of brimstone rose a fume. 

My father vanquished then, beheld the skies, 
Spake to the Gods, and th' holy star adored : 
6 Now, now,' quod he, ' no longer I abide : 
Follow I shall where ye my guide at hand. 
native Gods ! your family defend ; 
Preserve your line, this warning comes of you, 
And Troye stands in your protection now. 
Now give I place, and whereso that thou go, 
Refuse I not, my son. to be thy fere.' 

1 Of pity. 2 Kindling. 



142 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 

This did he say ; and by that time more clear 
The cracking flame was heard throughout the walls, 
And more and more the burning heat drew near. 
' Why then ! have done, my father dear/ quod I, 
' Bestride my neck forthwith, and sit thereon, 
And I shall with my shoulders thee sustain, 
Ne shall this labour do me any dere. 
What so betide, come peril, come welfare, 
Like to us both and common there shall be. 
Young lulus shall bear me company ; 
And my wife shall follow far off my steps. 
Now ye, my servants, mark well what I say : 
Without the town ye shall find, on a hill, 
An old temple there stands, whereas some time 
Worship was done to Ceres the Goddess ; 
Beside which grows an aged cypress tree, 
Preserved long by our forefathers'^ zeal : 
Behind which place let us together meet. 
And thou, Father, receive into thy hands 
The reliques all, and the Gods of the land : 
The which it were not lawful I should touch, 
That come but late from slaughter and bloodshed, 
Till I be washed in the running flood.' 

When I had said these words, my shoulders broad, 
And laied neck with garments 'gan I spread, 
And thereon cast a yellow lion's skin ; 
And thereupon my burden I receive. 
Young lulus clasped in my right hand, 
Folio we th me fast with unegal pace ; 
And at my back my wife. Thus did we pass 
By places shadowed most with the night. 
And me, whom late the dart which enemies threw, 
Nor press of Argive routs could make amaz'd, 



EARL or surrey's poems. 143 

Each whisp'ring wind hath power now to fray, 
And every sound to move my doubtful mind : 
So much I dread my burden, and my fere. 

And now we 'gan draw near unto the gate, 
Eight well escap'd the danger, as me thought, 
When that at hand a sound of feet we heard. 
My father then, gazing throughout the dark, 
Cried on me, 6 Flee, son ! they are at hand/ 
With that bright shields, and shene armours I saw. 
But then I know not what unfriendly God 
My troubled wit from me bereft for fear : 
For while I ran by the most secret streets, 
Eschewing still the common haunted track, 
From me catif, alas ! bereaved was 
Creusa then, my spouse, I wot not how ; 
Whether by fate, or missing of the way, 
Or that she was by weariness retain'd : 
But never sith these eyes might her behold ; 
Nor did I yet perceive that she was lost, 
Ne never backward turned I my mind, 
Till we came to the hill, whereas there stood 
The old temple dedicate to Ceres. 

And when that we were there assembled all, 
She was only away, deceiving us 
Her spouse, her son, and all her company. 
What God or man did I not then accuse, 
Near woode for ire ? or what more cruel chance 
Did hap to me, in all Troy's overthrow ? 
Ascanius to my feres I then betook, 
With Anchises, and eke the Troyan Gods. 
And left them hid within a valley deep. 
And to the town I 'gan me hie again, 
Clad in bright arms, and bent for to renew 



144 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 

Aventures past, to search throughout the town, 
And yield my head to perils once again. 

And first the walls and dark entry I sought 
Of the same gate whereat I issued out ; 
Holding backward the steps where we had come 
In the dark night, looking all round about : 
In every place the ugsome sights I saw ; 
The silence self of night aghast my sprite. 
From hence again I pass'd unto our house, 
If she by chance had been returned home. 
The Greeks were there, and had it all beset : 
The wasting fire, blown up by drift of wind, 
Above the roofs the blazing flame sprang up ; 
The sound whereof with fury pierced the skies. 
To Priam's palace, and the castle then 
I made ; and there at Juno's sanctuair, 
In the void porches, Phenix, Ulysses eke 
Stern guardians stood, watching of the spoil. 
The riches here were set, reft from the brent 
Temples of Troy : the tables of the Gods, 
The vessels eke that were of massy gold, 
And vestures spoil'd, were gather'd all in heap : 
The children orderly, and mothers pale for fright, 
Long ranged on a row stood round about. 

So bold was I to show my voice that night 
With clepes and cries to fill the streets through- 
out, 
With Creuse' name in sorrow, with vain tears ; 
And often sithes the same for to repeat. 
The town restless with fury as I sought, 
Th' unlucky figure of Creusa's ghost, 
Of stature more than wont, stood 'fore mine eyen. 
Abashed then I woxe : therewith my hair 



EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 145 

'Gan start right up : my voice stack in my throat: 
When with such words she 'gan my heart remove : 
1 What helps, to yield unto such furious rage, 
Sweet spouse ?' quod she, ' Without will of the 

Gods 
This chanced not : ne lawful was for thee 
To lead away Creusa hence with thee : 
The King of the high heaven sufFreth it not. 
A long exile thou art assigned to bear, 
Long to furrow large space of stormy seas : 
So shaft thou reach at last Hesperian land, 
Where Lidian Tiber with his gentle stream 
Mildly doth flow along the fruitful fields. 
There mirthful wealth, there kingdom is for thee ; 
There a king's child prepar'd to be thy make. 
For thy beloved Creusa stint thy tears : 
For now shall I not see the proud abodes 
Of Myrmidons, nor yet of Dolopes : 
Ne I, a Troyan lady, and the wife 
Unto the son of Venus, the Goddess, 
Shall go a slave to serve the Greekish dames. 

Me here the God's great mother holds. 

And now farewell : and keep in father's breast 
The tender love of thy young son and mine.' 

This having said, she left me all in tears, 
And minding much to speak ; but she was gone, 
And subtly fled into the weightless air. 
Thrice raught I with mine arms t' accoll 1 her nock : 
Thrice did my hands vain hold th' image escape, 
Like nimble winds, and like the flying dream. 
So night spent out, return I to my feres : 
And there wond'ring I find together swarm'd 
1 To embrace. 



146 EARL or surrey's poems. 

A new number of mates, mothers, and men, 

A rout exiled, a wretched multitude, 

From each-where flock together, prest to pass 

With heart and goods, to whatsoever land 

By sliding seas, me listed them to lead. 

And now rose Lucifer above the ridge 

Of lusty Ide, and brought the dawning light. 

The Greeks held th ? entries of the gates beset : 

Of help there was no hope. Then gave I place, 

Took up my sire, and hasted to the hill. 





THE FOUKTH BOOK OF VIRGIL'S 
33NEID. 

^UT now the wounded Queen, with 
heavy care, 
Throughout the veins she nourisheth 

the plaie, 
Surprised with blind flame ; and to 
her mind 
'Gan eke resort the prowess of the man, 
And honour of his race : while in her breast 
Imprinted stack his words, and pictures form. 
Ne to her limbs care granteth quiet rest. 

The next morrow, with Phoebus' lamp the earth 
Alighted clear ; and eke the dawning day 
The shadows dark ? gan from the pole remove : 
When all unsound, her sister of like mind 
Thus spake she to : ' ! Sister Anne, what dreams 
Be these, that me tormented thus affray ? 
What new guest is this, that to our realm is come ? 
What one of cheer ? how stout of heart in arms ? 
Truly I think (ne vain is my belief) 
Of Goddish race some offspring should he be : 



148 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 

Cowardry notes hearts swerved out of kind. 
He driven, lord ! with how hard destiny ! 
What battles eke achieved did he recount ! 
But that my mind is fixt immovably, 
Never with wight in wedlock aye to join, 
Sith my first love me left by death dissever'd ; 
If genial brands and bed me loathed not, 
To this one guilt perchance yet might I yield. 
Anne, for I grant, sith wretched Sichee's death, 
My spouse and house with brother's slaughter 

stain'd, 
This only man hath made my senses bend, 
And pricked forth the mind that 'gan to slide : 
Now feelingly I taste the steps of mine old flame. 
But first I wish the earth me swallow down, 
Or with thunder the mighty Lord me send 
To the pale ghosts of hell, and darkness deep ; 
Ere I thee stain, shamefastness, or thy laws. 
He that with me first coupled, took away 
My love with him ; enjoy it in his grave.' 

Thus did she say, and with supprised tears 
Bained her breast. Whereto Anne thus replied : 

6 Sister, dearer beloved than the light : 
Thy youth alone in plaint still wilt thou spill ? 
Ne children sweet, ne Venus' gifts wilt know ? 
Cinders, thinkest thou, mind this? or gravedghosts? 
Time of thy doole, 1 thy spouse new dead, I grant, 
None might thee move : no, not the Libyan king, 
Nor yet of Tyre ; Iarbas set so light, 
And other princes mo' ; whom the rich soil 
Of Afric breeds, in honours triumphant. 
Wilt thou also gainstand thy liked love ? 
1 Dole, or grief. 



EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 149 

Comes not to mind upon whose land thou dwell'st ? 

On this side, lo ! the Getule town behold, 

A people bold, unvanquished in war ; 

Eke the undaunted Numides compass thee ; 

Also the Sirtes unfriendly harbrough. 

On th' other hand, a desert realm for- thrust, 

The Barceans, whose fury stretcheth wide. 

What shall I touch the wars that move from Tyre ? 

Or yet thy brother's threats ? 

By Gods purveyance it blew, and Juno's help, 
The Troiaynes ships, I think, to run this course. 
Sister, what town shalt thou see this become ? 
Through such ally how shall our kingdom rise ? 
And by the aid of Troyan arms how great ? 
How many ways shall Carthages glory grow ? 
Thou only now beseech the Gods of grace 
By sacrifice : which ended, to thy house 
Receive him, and forge causes of abode : 
Whiles winter frets the seas, and wat'ry Orion, 
The ships shaken, unfriendly the season.' 

Such words inflamed the kindled mind with love, 
Loosed all shame, and gave the doubtful hope. 
And to the temples first they haste, and seek 
By sacrifice for grace, with hogrels 1 of two years, 
Chosen, as ought, to Ceres that gave laws, 
To Phoebus, Bacchus, and to Juno chief, 
Which hath in care the bands of marriage. 
Fair Dido held in her right hand the cup, 
Which 'twixt the horns of a white cow she shed 
In presence of the Gods, passing before 
The altars fat ; which she renewed oft 
With gifts that day, and beasts deboweled ; 
2 Sheep two years old. 



150 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 

Gazing for counsel on the entrails warm. 
Ay me ! unskilful minds of prophesy ! 
Temples or vows, what boot they in her rage ? 
A gentle flame the marrow doth devour, 
Whiles in the breast the silent wound keeps life. 
Unhappy Dido burns, and in her rage 
Throughout the town she wand'reth up and down. 
Like the stricken hind with shaft, in Crete 
Throughout the woods which chasing with his dart 
Aloof, the shepherd smiteth at unwares, 
And leaves unwist in her the thirling head : 
That through the groves, and lands glides in her 

flighty 
Amid whose side the mortal arrow sticks* 

^Eneas now about the walls she leads, 
The town prepared, and Carthage wealth to shew, 
Offering to speak, amid her voice, she whists. 
And when the day gan fail new feasts she makes ; 
The Troies travails to hear a-new she lists, 
Enraged all ; and stareth in his face 
That tells the tale. And when they were all gone, 
And the dim moon doth eft withhold the light, 
And sliding stars provoked unto sleep ; 
Alone she mourns within her palace void, 
And sets her down on her forsaken bed. 
And, absent, him she bears, when he is gone, 
And seeth eke. Oft in her lap she holds 
Ascanius, trapp'd by his father's form : 
So to beguile the love, cannot be told. 

The turrets now arise not, erst begun ; 
Neither the youth wields arms, nor they advance 
The ports, nor other meet defence for war : 
Broken there hang the works and mighty frames 



EARL OF SURBEV'S POEMS. 151 

Of walls high raised, threatening the sky. 
Whom as soon as Jove's dear wife saw infect 
With such a plague, ne fame resist the rage ; 
Saturnes' daughter thus burdes Venus then : 
* Great praise/ quod she, i and worth}- spoils you 

win, 
You and your son; great Gods of memory ! 
By both your wiles one woman to devour. 
Yet am not I deceived, that foreknew 
Ye dread our walls, and buildings gan suspect 
Of high Carthage. But what shall be the end ? 
Or whereunto now serveth such debate ? 
But rather peace, and bridal bands knit we, 
Sith thou hast sped of that thy heart desired ; 
Dido doth burn with love : rage frets her bones, 
This people now as common to us both, 
With equal favour let us govern then ; 
Lawful be it to serve a Trojan spouse ; 
And Tyrians yield to thy right hand in dower.' 

To whom Venus replied thus, that knew 
Her words proceeded from a feigned mind, 
To Libyan coasts to turn th' empire from Rome. 
' What wight so fond such offer to refuse ? 
Or yet with thee had liever 1 strive in war ? 
So be it fortune thy tale bring t' effect : 
But destinies I doubt ; lest Jove nil! 2 grant, 
That folk of Tyre, and such as came from Troy, 
Should hold one town ; or grant these nations 
Mingled to be, or joined aye in league. 
Thou art his wife : lawful it is for thee 
For to attempt his fancy by request ■ 
Pass on before ; and follow thee I shall.' 
1 Rather. 2 Will not. 



152 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 

Queen Juno then thus took her tale again : 
' This travail be it mine. But by what mean 
-(Mark, in few words I shall thee learn eftsoons.) 
This work in hand may now be compassed. 
iEneas now, and wretched Dido eke, 
To the forest a hunting mind to wend 
To-morn, as soon as Titan shall ascend, 
And with his beams hath overspread the world : 
And whiles the wings of youth do swarm about, 
And whiles they range to overset the groves, 
A cloudy shower mingled with hail I shall 
Pour down, and then with thunder shake the skies. 
Th' assembly scattered the mist shall cloke. 
Dido a cave, the Troyan prince the same 
Shall enter too ; and I will be at hand : 
And if thy will stick unto mine, I shall 
In wedlock sure knit, and make her his own : 
Thus shall the marriage be.' To whose request 
Without debate Venus did seem to yield, 
And smiled soft, as she that found the wile. 

Then from the seas the dawning gan arise : 
The sun once up, the chosen youth gan throng- 
Out at the gates : the hayes so rarely knit, 
The hunting staves with their broad heads of steel ; 
And of Masile the horsemen forth they brake ; 
Of scenting hounds a kennel huge likewise. 
And at the threshold of her chamber door 
The Carthage lords did on the Queen attend. 
The trampling steed, with gold and purple trapp'd, 
Chawing the foamy bit, there fiercely stood. 
Then issued she, awaited with great train, 
Clad in a cloak of Tyre embroider'd rich. 
Her quiver hung behind her back, her tress 






earl of Surrey's poems. 153 

Knotted in gold, her purple vesture eke 

Button'd with gold. The Troyans of her train 

Before her go, with gladsome lulus. 

^Eneas eke, the goodliest of the rout, 

Makes one of them, and joineth close the throngs : 

Like when Apollo leaveth Lycia, 

His wintering place, and Xanthus 5 floods likewise, 

To visit Delos, his mother's mansion, 

Repairing eft and furnishing her choir : 

The Candians, and folks of Driopes, 

With painted Aga thyrsi es shout, and cry, 

Environing the altars round about ; 

When that he walks upon mount Cynthus' top : 

His sparkled tress repress'd with garlands soft 

Of tender leaves, and trussed up in gold ; 

His quivering darts clatt'ring behind his back. 

So fresh and lusty did .Eneas seem ; 

Such lordly port in present countenance. 

But to the hills and wild holts when they came ; 
From the rock's top the driven savage rose. 
Lo from the hill above, on th' other side, 
Through the wide lawns they gan to take their 

course. 
The harts likewise in troops taking their flight, 
Raising the dust, the mountain -fast forsake. 
The child lulus, blithe of his swift steed, 
Amid the plain now pricks by them, now these ; 
And to encounter wisheth oft in mind 
The foaming Boar, instead of fearful beasts, 
Or Lion brown, might from the hill descend. 

In the mean while the skies gan rumble sore ; 
In tail thereof, a mingled shower with hail. 
The Tyrian folk, and eke the Troyans youth. 



154 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 

And Venus' nephew the cottages, for fear, 
Sought round about; the floods fell from the hills. 
Dido a den, the Troyan prince the same, 
Chanced upon. Our mother then, the Earth, 
And Juno that hath charge of marriage, 
First tokens gave with burning gleads of flame ; 
And, privy to the wedlock, lightning skies ; 
And the Nymphs yelled from the mountains top. 

Ay me ! this was the first day of their mirth, 
And of their harms the first occasion eke. 
Respect of fame no longer her withholds : 
Nor museth now to frame her love by stealth. 
Wedlock she calls it : under the pretence 
Of which fair name she cloaketh now her fault. 

Forthwith Flame flieth through the great Libyan 
towns : 
A mischief Fame, there is none else so swift ; 
That moving grows, and flitting gathers force. 
First small for dread, soon after climbs the skies ; 
Stayeth on earth, and hides her head in clouds. 
Whom our mother the earth, tempted by wrath 
Of Gods, begat ; the last Sister (they write) 
To Caeus, and to Enceladus eke : 
Speedy of foot, of wing likewise as swift, 
A monster huge, and dreadful to descrive. 1 
In every plume that on her body sticks 
(A thing indeed much marvelous to hear) 
As many waker eyes lurk underneath, 
So many mouths to speak, and listening ears. 
By night she flies amid the cloudy sky, 
Shrieking, by the dark shadow of the earth, 
Ne doth decline to the sweet sleep her eyes. 
1 Describe. 



EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 155 

By day she sits to mark on the house top, 
Or turrets high ; and the great towns affrays ; 
As mindful of ill and lies, as biasing truth. 

This monster blithe with many a tale gan sow 
This rumour then into the common ears : 
As well things done, as that was never wrought : 
As, that there comen is to Tyrian's court 
iEneas, one outsprung of Troyan blood, 
To whom fair Dido would herself be wed : 
And that, the while, the winter long they pass 
In foul delight, forgetting charge of reign ; 
Led against honour with unhonest lust. 

This in each mouth the filthy Goddess spreads ; 
And takes her course to king Hiarbas straight, 
Kindling his mind ; with tales she feeds his wrath ; 
Gotten was he by Amnion Jupiter 
Upon the ravish' d nymph of Garamant. 
A hundred hugy, great temples he built 
In his far stretching realms to Jupiter ; 
Altars as many kept with waking flame, 
A watch always upon the Gods to tend ; 
The floors embru'd with yielded blood of beasts, 
And threshold spread with garlands of strange hue. 
He woode x of mind, kindled by bitter bruit 
Tofore 2 th ? altars, in presence of the Gods, 
With reared hands gan humbly Jove entreat : 

6 Almighty God ! whom the Moores nation 
Fed at rich tables presenteth with wine, 
See'st thou these things ? or fear we thee in vain, 
When thou lettest fly thy thunder from the clouds ? 
Or do those flames with vain noise us affray ? 
A woman, that wandering in our coasts hath bought 
1 Mad, furious. 2 Before. 



156 earl of Surrey's poems. 

A plot for price, where she a city set ; 
To whom we gave the strond for to manure, 
And laws to rule her town, our wedlock loathed, 
Hath chose ^Eneas to command her realm. 
That Paris now, with his unmanly sort, 
With mitred hats, with ointed bush and beard, 
His rape enjoy eth : whiles to thy temples we 
Our offerings bring, and follow rumours vain.' 

Whom praying in such sort, and griping eke 
The altars fast, the mighty father heard ; 
And writhed his look toward the royal walls, 
And lovers eke, forgetting their good name. 
To Mercury then gave he thus in charge : 
' Hence, son, in haste ! and call to thee the winds ; 
Slide with thy plumes, and tell the Troyan prince 
That now in Carthage loitereth, rechless 
Of the towns granted him by destiny. 
Swift through the skies see thou these words convey: 
His fair Mother behight him not to us 
Such one to be ; ne therefore twice him saved 
From Greekish arms : but such a one 
As meet might seem great Italy to rule, 
Dreadful in arms, charged with seigniory, 
Shewing in proof his worthy Teucrian race ; 
And under laws the whole world to subdue. 
If glory of such things nought him enflame, 
Ne that he lists seek honour by some pain ; 
The towers yet of Rome, being his sire, 
Doth he envy to young Ascanius ? 
What mindeth he to frame ? or on what hope 
In en'mies land doth he make his abode ? 
Ne his offspring in Italy regards ? 
Ne yet the land of Lavine doth behold ? 



EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 157 

Bid him make sail : have here the sum and end ; 
Our message thus report.' When Jove had said, 
Then Mercury 'gan bend him to obey 
His mighty father's will : and to his heels 
His golden wings he knits, w T hich him transport, 
With a light wind above the earth and seas. 
And then with him his wand he took, whereby 
He calls from hell pale ghosts ; and other some 
Thither also he sendeth comfortless : 
Whereby he forceth sleeps, and them bereaves ; 
And mortal eyes he closeth up in death. 
By power whereof he drives the winds away, 
And passeth eke amid the troubled clouds, 
Till in his flight he gan descry the top 
And the steep flanks of rocky Atlas' hill, 
That with his crown sustains the welkin up : 
Whose head forgrown with pine, circled alway 
With misty clouds, is beaten with wind and storm ; 
His shoulders spread with snow ; and from his chin 
The springs descend ; his beard frozen with ice. 
Here Mercury with equal shining wings 
First touched ; and with body headling bet, 
To the water then took he his descent : 
Like to the fowl that endlong coasts and stronds 
Swarming with fish, flies sweeping by the sea ; 
Cutting betwixt the winds and Libyan lands, 
From his grandfather by the mother's side, 
Cyllene's child so came, and then alight 
Upon the houses with his w T inged feet ; 
Tofore the towers where he ^Eneas saw 
Foundations cast, arearing lodges new ; 
Girt with a sword of jasper, starry bright; 
A shining 'parel, flamed with stately eye 



158 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 

Of Tyrian purple, hung his shoulders down, 
The gift and work of wealthy Dido's hand, 
Striped throughout with a thin thread of gold. 

Thus he encounters him : ' Oh careless wight ! 
Both of thy realm, and of thine own affairs ; 
A wife-bound man now dost thou rear the walls "* 
Of high Carthage, to build a goodly town ! 
From the bright skies the ruler of the Gods 
Sent me to thee, that with his beck commands 
Both heav'n and earth : in haste he gave me charge 
Through the light air this message thee to say. 
What framest thou ? or on what hope thy time 
In idleness dost waste in Afric land ? 
Of so great things if nought the fame thee stir, 
Ne list by travail honour to pursue ; 
Ascanius yet, that waxeth fast, behold ; 
And the hope of lulus' seed, thine heir ; 
To whom the realm of Italy belongs, 
And soil of Eome.' When Mercury had said, 
Amid his tale far off from mortal eyes 
Into light air he vanish'd out of sight. 

./Eneas with that vision striken down, 
Well near bestraught, 1 upstart his hair for dread, 
Amid his throatal his voice likewise 'gan stick. 
For to depart by night he longeth now, 
And the sweet land to leave, astoined sore 
With this advise and message of the Gods. 
What may he do, alas ! or by what words 
Dare he persuade the raging Queen in love ? 
Or in what sort may he his tale begin ? 
Now here, now there his rechless mind 'gan run, 
And diversely him draws, discoursing all. 
1 Distracted. 






EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 159 

After long doubts this sentence seemed best : 
Mnestheus first, and strong Cloanthns eke 
He calls to him, with Sergest ; unto whom 
He gave in charge his navy secretly 
For to prepare, and drive to the sea coast 
His people ; and their armour to address ; 
And for the cause of change to feign excuse : 
And that he, when good Dido least foreknew, 
Or did suspect so great a love could break, 
Would wait his time to speak thereof most meet ; 
The nearest way to hasten his intent. 
Gladly his will and biddings they obey. 

Full soon the Queen this crafty sleight 'gan smell, 
(Who can deceive a lover in forecast ?) 
And first foresaw the motions for to come ; 
Things most assured fearing. Unto whom 
That wicked Fame reported, how to flight 
Was arm'd the fleet, all ready to avale. 
Then ill bested of counsel, rageth she ; 
And whisketh through the town : like Bacchus' nun, 
As Thy as stirs, the sacred rites begun, 
And when the wonted third years sacrifice 
Doth prick her forth, hearing Bacchus' name hal- 
lowed, 
And that the feastful night of Citheron 
Doth call her forth, with noise of dancing. 
At length herself bordeth iEneas thus : 
6 Unfaithful wight ! to cover such a fault 
Couldest thou hope ? unwist to leave my land ? 
Not thee our love, nor yet right hand betrothed, 
Ne cruel death of Dido may withhold ? 
But that thou wilt in winter ships prepare, 
And try the seas in broil of whirling winds ? 



160 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 

What if the land thou seekest were not strange ! 

If not unknowen ? or ancient Troy yet stood ? 

In rough seas yet should Troye town be sought ? 

Shunnest thou me ? By these tears, and right hand, 

(For nought else have I, wretched, left myself) 

By our spousals and marriage begun, 

If I of thee deserved ever well, 

Or thing of mine were ever to thee lief; 

Eue on this realm, whose ruin is at hand. 

If ought be left that prayer may avail, 

I thee beseech to do away this mind. 

The Libyans, and tyrants of Nomadane, 

For thee me hate : my Tyrians eke for thee 

Are wroth ; by thee my shamefastness eke stained, 

And good renown, whereby up to the stars 

Peerless I clamb. To whom wilt thou me leave, 

Eeady to die, my sweet guest ? sith this name 

Is all, as now, that of a spouse remains. 

But whereto now should I prolong my death ? 

What ! until my brother Pigmalion 

Beat down my walls ? or the Getulian king 

Hiarbas, yet captive lead me away ? 

Before thy flight a child had I once borne, 

Or seen a young iEneas in my court 

Play up and down, that might present thy face, 

All utterly I could not seem forsaken/ 

Thus said the Queen. He to the God's advice, 
Unmoved held his eyes, and in his breast 
Represt his care, and strove against his will : 
And these few words at last then forth he cast. 
' Never shall I deny, Queen, thy desert ; 
Greater than thou in words mny well express. 
To think on thee ne irk me aye it shall, 



EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 161 

Whiles of myself I shall have memory ; 
And whiles the spirit these limbs of mine shall rule. 
For present purpose somewhat shall I say. 
Never meant I to cloak the same by stealth. 
Slander me not, ne to escape by flight : 
Nor I to thee pretended marriage ; 
Ne hither came to join me in such league. 
If destiny at mine own liberty, 
To lead my life would have permitted me, 
After my will, my sorrow to redoub, 1 
Troy and the remainder of our folk 
Restore I should : and with these scaped hands, 
The walls again unto these vanquished, 
And palace high of Priam eke repair. 
But now Apollo, called Grineus, 
And prophecies of Lycia me advise 
To seize upon the realm of Italy : 
That is my love, my country, and my land. 
• If Carthage turrets thee, Phoenician born, 
And of a Libyan town the sight detain ; 
To us Troyans why do est thou then envy 
In Italy to make our resting seat ? 
Lawful is eke for us strange realms to seek. 
As oft as night doth cloak with shadows dark 
The earth, as oft as flaming stars appear, 
The troubled ghost of my father Anchises 
So oft in sleep doth fray me, and advise : 
The wronged head by me of my dear son, 
Whom I defraud of the Hesperian crown, 
And lands allotted him by destiny. 
The messenger eke of the Gods but late 
Sent down from Jove (I swear by either head) 
1 Redub, to remedy, redress. 



162 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 

Passing the air, did this to me report. 
In bright day-light the God myself I saw 
Enter these walls, and with these ears him heard. 
Leave then with plaint to vex both thee and me : 
Against my will to Italy I go.' 

Whiles in this sort he did his tale pronounce, 
With wayward look she ? gan him aye behold, 
And rolling eyes, that moved to and fro ; 
With silent look discoursing over all : 
And forth in rage at last thus ? gan she upbraid : 

' Faithless ! forsworn ! ne Goddess was thy dam ! 
Nor Dardanus beginner of thy race ! 
But of hard rocks mount Caucase monstruous 
Bred thee, and teats of tyger gave thee suck. 
But what should I dissemble now my cheer ? 
Or me reserve to hope of greater things ? 
Minds he our tears ? or ever moved his eyen ? 
Wept he for ruth ? or pitied he our love ? 
What shall I set before ? or where begin ? 
Juno, nor Jove with just eyes this beholds. 
Faith is no where in surety to be found. 
Did I not him, thrown up upon my shore 
In need receive, and fonded eke invest 
Of half my realm ? his navy lost, repair ? 
From death's danger his fellows eke defend ? 
Ay me ! with rage and furies, lo ! I drive. 
Apollo now, now Lycian prophecies, 
Another while, the messenger of Gods, 
He says, sent down from mighty Jove himself. 
The dreadful charge amid the skies hath brought. 
As though that were the travail of the Gods, 
Or such a care their quietness might move ! 
I hold thee not, nor yet gainsay thy words ; 



EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 163 

To Italy pass on by help of winds ; 
And through the floods go search thy kingdom new. 
If ruthful Gods have any power, I trust 
Amid the rocks thy guerdon thou shalt find ; 
When thou shalt clepe full oft on Dido's name. 
With burial brandes I, absent, shall thee chase : 
And when cold death from life these limbs divides, 
My ghost each where shall still on thee await. 
Thou shalt abye 1 ; and I shall hear thereof, 
Among the souls below the bruit shall come.' 

With such like words she cut off half her tale, 
With pensive heart abandoning the light. 
And from his sight herself gan far remove ; 
Forsaking him, that many things in fear 
Imagined, and did prepare to say. 
Her swouning limbs her damsels 'gan relieve, 
And to her chamber bare of marble stone ; 
And laid her on her bed with tapets 2 spread. 

But just ^Eneas, though he did desire 
With comfort sweet her sorrows to appease, 
And with his words to banish all her care ; 
Wailing her much, with great love overcome : 
The Gods' will yet he worketh, and resorts 
Unto his navy. Where the Troyans fast 
Fell to their work, from the shore to linstock 
High rigged ships : now fletes the tallowed keel; 
Their oars with leaves yet green from wood they 

bring ; 
And masts unshave for haste, to take their flight. 
You might have seen them throng out of the town 
Like ants, when they do spoil the bing of corr i; 

1 To expiate, to pay for. 

2 Cloth of any kind, as tapestry. 



164 

For winter's dread, which they bear to their den : 
When the black swarm creeps over all the fields, 
And thwart the grass by strait paths drags their prey • 
The great grains then some on their shoulders truss, 
Some drive the troop, some chastise eke the slow : 
That with their travail chafed is each path. 

Beholding this, what thought might Dido have ? 
What sighs gave she ? when from her towers high 
The large coasts she saw haunted with Troyan's 

works, 
And in her sight the seas with din confounded ? 
0, witless Love ! what thing is that to do 
A mortal mind thou canst not force thereto ? 
Forced she is to tears ay to return, 
With new requests to yield her heart to love : 
And lest she should before her causeless death 
Leave any thing untried : ' sister Anne !' 
Quoth she, ' behold the whole coast round about, 
How they prepare, assembled every where ; 
The streaming sails abiding but for wind : 
The shipmen crown their ships with boughs for joy. 

sister ! if so great a sorrow I 
Mistrusted had, it were more light to bear. 
Yet natheless this for me wretched wight, 
Anne, shalt thou do : for faithless, thee alone 
He reverenced, thee eke his secrets told ; 

The meetest time thou knowest to borde the man : 
To my proud foe thus, sister, humbly say ; 

1 with the Greeks within the port Aulide 
Conjured not, the Troyans to destroy ; 
Nor to the walls of Troy yet sent my fleet : 
Nor cinders of his father Anchises 
Disturbed have, out of his sepulture. 



earl or Surrey's poems. 165 

Why lets he not my words sink in his ears 

So hard to overtreat ? Whither whirls he ? 

This last boon yet grant he to wretched love. 

Prosperous winds for to depart with ease 

Let him abide ; the foresaid marriage now, 

That he betray'd, I do not him require ; 

Nor that he should fair Italy forgo : 

Neither I would he should his kingdom leave. 

Quiet I ask, and a time of delay, 

And respite eke my fury to assuage, 

Till my mishap teach me, all comfortless, 

How for to wail my grief. This latter grace, 

Sister, I crave : have thou remorse of me ; 

Which, if thou shalt vouchsafe, with heaps I shall 

Leave by my death redoubled unto thee.' 

Moisted with tears thus wretched 'gan she plain : 
Which Anne reports, and answer brings again. 
Nought tears him move, ne yet to any words 
He can be framed with gentle mind to yield. 
The Werdes 1 withstand, a God stops his meek ears. 
Like to the aged boisteous bodied oak, 
The which among the Alps the Northern winds 
Blowing now from this quarter, now from that, 
Betwixt them strive to overwhelm with blasts : 
The whistling air among the branches roars, 
Which all at once bow to the earth her crops, 
The stock once smit : whiles in the rocks the tree 
Sticks fast ; and look, how high to the heav'n her top 
Rears up, so deep her root spreads down to hell. 
So was this Lord now here now there beset 
With words ; in whose stout breast wrought many 
cares. 

1 The Fates. 



166 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 

But still his mind in one remains ; in vain 

The tears were shed. Then Dido, fray'd of Fates, 

Wisheth for death, irked 1 to see the skies. 

And that she might the rather work her will, 

And leave the light, (a grisly thing to tell) 

Upon the altars burning full of 'cense 

When she set gifts of sacrifice, she saw 

The holy water stocks wax black within ; 

The wine eke shed, change into filthy gore : 

This she to none, not to her sister told. 

A marble temple in her palace eke, 

In memory of her old spouse, there stood, 

In great honour and worship, which she held, 

With snow white clothes deck'd, and with boughs 

of feast : 
Whereoutwas heard her husband's voice, and speech 
Cleping for her, when dark night hid the earth : 
And oft the owl with rueful song complain'd 
From the housetop, drawing long doleful tunes. 
And many things forespoke by prophets past 
With dreadful warning 'gan her now affray : 
And stern ^Eneas seemed in her sleep 
To chase her still about, distraught in rage : 
And still her thought, that she was left alone 
Uncompanied, great voyages to wend, 
In desert land, her Tyrian folk to seek. 
Like Pentheus, that in his madness saw 
Swarming in flocks the furies all of hell ; 
Two suns remove, and Thebes town shew twain. 
Or like Orestes Agamemnon's son, 
In tragedies who represented aye 
Is driven about, that from his mother fled 
1 Wearied. 



EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 167 

Armed with brands, and eke with serpent's black ; 
That sitting found within the temple's porch 
The ugly furies his slaughter to revenge. 

Yelden to woe, when phrensy had her caught, 
Within herself then 'gan she well debate, 
Full bent to die, the time and eke the mean ; 
And to her woful sister thus she said, 
In outward cheer dissembling her intent, 
Presenting hope under a semblant glad : 

' Sister, rejoice ! for I have found the way 
Him to return, or loose me from his love. 
Toward the end of the great ocean flood, 
Whereas the wandering sun descendeth hence,' 
In the extremes of Ethiope, is a place 
Where huge Atlas doth on his shoulders turn 
The sphere so round with flaming stars beset. 
Born of Massyle, I hear should. be a Nun ; 
That of the Hesperian sisters' temple old, 
And of their goodly garden keeper was ; 
That gives unto the Dragon eke his food, 
That on the tree preserves the holy fruit ; 
That honey moist, and sleeping poppy casts. 
This woman doth avaunt, by force of charm, 
What heart she list to set at liberty ; 
And other some to pierce with heavy cares : 
In running flood to stop the waters' course ; 
And eke the stars their movings to reverse ; 
T' assemble eke the ghosts that walk by night : 
Under thy feet the earth thou shalt behold 
Tremble and roar; the oaks come from the hill. 
The Gods and thee, dear sister, now I call 
In witness, and thy head to me so sweet, 
To magic arts against my will I bend. 



168 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 

Right secretly within our inner court, 
In open air rear up a stack of wood ; 
And hang thereon the weapon of this man, 
The which he left within my chamber, stick : 
His weeds dispoiled all, and bridal bed, 
Wherein, alas ! Sister, I found my bane, 
Charge thereupon ; for so the Nun commands, 
To do away what did to him belong, 
Of that false wight that might remembrance bring.' 
Then whisted she ; the pale her face 'gan stain. 
Ne could yet Anne believe, her sister meant 
To cloke her death by this new sacrifice ; 
Nor in her breast such fury did conceive : 
Neither doth she now dread more grievous thing 
Than followed Sichees death ; wherefore 
She put her will in ure. But then the Queen, 
When that the stack of wood was reared up 
Under the air within the inward court 
With cloven oak, and billets made of fir, 
With garlands she doth all beset the place, 
And with green boughs eke crown the funeral, 
And thereupon his weeds and sword yleft, 
And on a bed his picture she bestows, 
As she that well foreknew what was to come. 
The altars stand about, and eke the Nun 
With sparkled tress ; the which three hundred Gods 
With a loud voice doth thunder out at once, 
Erebus the grisly, and Chaos huge, 
And eke the threefold Goddess Hecate, 
And three faces of Diana the virgin : 
And sprinkles eke the water counterfeit 
Like unto black A vermis' lake in hell : 
And springing herbs reap'd up with brazen scythes 



EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 169 

Were sought, after the right course of the Moon ; 
The venom black intermingled with rnilk ; 
The lump of flesh 'tween the new-born foals eyen 
To reave, that winneth from the dam her love. 
She, with the mole all in her hands devout, 
Stood near the altar, bare of the one foot, 
With vesture loose, the bands unlaced all ; 
Bent for to die, calls the Gods to record, 
And guilty stars eke of her destiny : 
And if there were any God that had care 
Of lovers' hearts not moved w r ith love alike, 
Him she requires of justice to remember. 

It was then night ; the sound and quiet sleep 
Had through the earth the wearied bodies caught ; 
The woods, the raging seas were fallen to rest ; 
When that the stars had half their course declined; 
The fields whist, 1 beasts, and fowls of divers hue, 
And what so that in the broad lakes remained, 
Or yet among the bushy thicks of brier, 
Laid down to sleep by silence of the night 
? Gan swage their cares, mindless of travails past. 
Not so the spirit of this Phenician ; 
Unhappy she that on no sleep could chance, 
Nor yet night's rest enter in eye or breast : 
Her cares redouble ; love doth rise and rage again, 
And overflows with swelling storms of wrath. 
Thus thinks she then, this rolls she in her mind : 

' What shall I do ? shall I now bear the scorn, 
For to assay mine old wooers again ? 
And humbly yet a Numid spouse require, 
Whose marriage I have so oft disdained ? 
The Troyan navy, and Teucrian vile commands 
1 Hushed, silent. 



170 EARL or surrey's poems. 

Follow shall I ? as though it should avail, 
That whilom by my help they were relieved ; 
Or for because with kind and mindful folk 
Right well doth sit the passed thankful deed ? 
Who would me suffer (admit this were my will) ? 
Or me scorned to their proud ships receive ? 
Oh, woe-begone ! full little knowest thou yet 
The broken oaths of Laomedon's kind. 
What then ? alone on merry mariners 
Shall I wait ? or board them with my power 
Of Tyrians assembled me about ? 
And such as I with travail brought from Tyre 
Drive to the seas, and force them sail again ? 
But rather die, even has thou hast deserved ; 
And to this woe with iron give thou end. 
And thou, sister, first vanquished with my tears, 
Thou in my rage with all these mischiefs first 
Didst burden me, and yield me to my foe. 
Was it not granted me from spousals free, 
Like to wild beasts, to live without offence, 
Without taste of such cares ? is there no faith 
Reserved to the cinders of Sychee ? ' 

Such great complaints brake forth out of her 
breast : 
Whiles ^Eneas full minded to depart, 
All things prepared, slept in the poop on high. 
To whom in sleep the wonted Godhead's form 
? Gan aye appear, returning in like shape 
As seemed him ; and 'gan him thus advise : 
Like unto Mercury in voice and hue, 
With yellow bush, and comely limbs of youth. 
i Goddess son, in such case canst thou sleep ? 
Ne yet, bestraught, the dangers dost foresee, 



EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 171 

That compass thee ? nor hear'st the fair winds 

blow? 
Dido in mind rolls vengeance and deceit ; 
Determ'd to die, swells with unstable ire. 
Wilt thou not flee whiles thou hast time of flight ? 
Straight shalt thou see the seas covered with sails, 
The blazing brands the shore all spread with flame, 
And if the morrow steal upon thee here. 
Come off, have done, set all delay aside ; 
For full of change these women be alway.' 
This said, in the dark night he 'gan him hide. 

iEneas, of this sudden vision 
Adread, starts up out of his sleep in haste ; 
Calls up his feres : ' Awake, get up, my men, 
Aboard your ships, and hoise up sail with speed ; 
A God me wills, sent from above again, 
To haste my flight, and wreathen cables cut. 
holy God, what so thou art, we shall 
Follow thee, and all blithe obey thy will ; 
Be at our hand, and friendly us assist ; 
Address the stars with prosperous influence/ 
And with that word his glistering sword unsheaths; 
With which drawn he the cables cut in twain. 
The like desire the rest embraced all. 
All thing in haste they cast, and forth they whirl ; 
The shores they leave ; with ships the seas are 

spread ; 
Cutting the foam by the blue seas they sweep. 

Aurora now from Titan's purple bed 
With new daylight had overspread the earth ; 
When by her windows the Queen the peeping day 
Espied, and navy with 'splay'd sails depart 
The shore, and eke the port of vessels void. 



172 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 

Her comely breast thrice or four times she smote 
With her own hand, and tore her golden tress. 
6 Jove/ quoth she, ' shall he then thus depart, 
A stranger thus, and scorn our kingdom so ? 
Shall not my men do on their armour prest, 
And eke pursue them throughout all the town ? 
Out of the road soon shall the vessel warp. 
Haste on, cast flame, set sail, and wield your oars. 
What said I ? but where am I ? what phrensy 
Alters thy mind ? Unhappy Dido, now 
Hath thee beset a froward destiny. 
Then it behoved, when thou didst give to him 
His sceptre. Lo ! his faith and his right hand ! 
That leads with him, they say, his country Gods, 
That on his back his aged father bore ! 
His body might I not have caught and rent ? 
And in the seas drenched him and his feres ? 
And from Ascanius his life with iron reft, 
And set him on his father's board for meat? 
Of such debate perchance the fortune might 
Have been doubtful : would God it were assay 'd ! 
Whom should I fear, sith I myself must die ? 
Might I have throwen into that navy brands, 
And filled eke their decks with flaming fire, 
The father, son, and all their nation 
Destroy'd, and fallen myself dead over all ! 
Sun with thy beams, that mortal works descriest ; 
And thou, Juno, that well these travails know'st *, 
Proserpine, thou, upon whom folk do use 
To howl, and call in forked ways by night ; 
Infernal Furies eke, ye wreakers of wrong ; 
And Dido's Gods, who stands at point of death, 
Receive these words, and eke your heavy power 



earl of Surrey's poems. 173 

Withdraw from me, that wicked folk deserve : 

And our request accept we you beseech : 

If so that yonder wicked head must needs 

Recover port, and sail to land of force ; 

xlnd if Jove's will have so resolved it, 

And such end set as no wight can foredo ; 

Yet at the least assailed might he be 

With arms and wars of hardy nations ; 

From the bounds of his kingdom far exiled ; 

lulus eke ravish'd out of his arms ; 

Driven to call for help, that he may see 

The guiltless corpses of his folk lie dead : 

And after hard conditions of peace, 

His realm, nor life desired may he brook ; 

But fall before his time, ungraved amid the sands. 

This I require ; these words with blood I shed. 

And, Tyrians, ye his stock and all his race 

Pursue with hate ; reward our cinders so. 

No love nor league betwixt our peoples be ; 

And of our bones some wreaker may there spring, 

With sword and flame that Troyans may pursue : 

And from henceforth, when that our power may 

stretch, 
Our coasts to them contrary be for aye, 
I crave of God ; and our streams to their floods ; 
Arms unto arms ; and offspring of each race 
With mortal war each other may fordo.' 

This said, her mind she writhed on all- sides, 
Seeking with speed to end her irksome life. 
To Sichees' nurse, Barcen, then thus she said, 
(For hers at home in ashes did remain) : 
' Call unto me, dear nurse, my sister Anne : 
Bid her in haste in water of the flood 



174 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 

She sprinkle the body, and bring the beasts, 

And purging sacrifice I did her shew ; 

So let her come : and thou thy temples bind 

With sacred garlands : for the sacrifice 

That I to Pluto have begun, my mind 

Is to perform, and give end to these cares ; 

And Troyan statue throw into the flame.' 

When she had said, redouble 'gan her nurse 
Her steps, forth on an aged woman's trot. 

But trembling Dido eagerly now bent 
Upon her stern determination ; 
Her bloodshot eyes rolling within her head ; 
Her quivering^ cheeks flecked with deadly stain, 
Both pale and wan to think on death to come ; 
Into the inward wards of her palace 
She rusheth in, and clamb up, as distraught, 
The burial stack, and drew the Troyan sword, 
Her gift sometime, but meant to no such use. 
Where when she saw his weed, and wellknowen bed, 
Weeping awhile in study 'gan she stay, 
Fell on the bed, and these last words she said : 

6 Sweet spoils, whiles God and destinies it would, 
Eeceive this sprite, and rid me of these cares : 
I lived and ran the course fortune did grant • 
And under earth my great ghost now shall wend : 
A goodly town I built, and saw my walls ; 
Happy, alas, too happy, if these coasts 
The Troyan ships had never touched aye.' 

This said, she laid her mouth close to the bed. 
* Why then,' quoth she, ( unwroken shall we die? 
But let us die : for this ! and in this sort 
It liketh us to seek the shadows dark ! 
And from the seas the cruel Troyan's eyes 



EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 175 

Shall well discern this flame ; and take with him 
Eke these unlucky tokens of my death ! ' 

As she had said, her damsels might perceive 
Her with these words fall pierced on a sword ; 
The blade embrued, and hands besprent with gore. 
The clamour rang unto the palace top ; 
The bruit ran throughout all th' astonied tQwn : 
With wailing great, and women's shrill yelling 
The roofs 'gan roar ; the air resound with plaint : 
As though Carthage, or th' ancient town of Tyre 
With press of enter'd enemies swarmed full : 
Or when the rage of furious flame doth take 
The temples' tops, and mansions eke of men. 

Her sister Anne, spriteless for dread to hear 
This fearful stir, with nails 'gan tear her face ; 
She smote her breast, and rushed through the rout : 
And her dying she clepes 1 thus by her name : 

' Sister, for this with craft did you me bourd? 2 
The stack, the flame, the altars, bred they this? 
What shall I first complain, forsaken wight ? 
Loathest thou in death thy sister's fellowship ? 
Thou shouldst have eall'd me to like destiny ; 
One woe, one sword, one hour, might end us both. 
This funeral stack built I with these hands, 
And with this voice cleped our native Gods ? 
And, cruel, so absentest me from thy death ? 
Destroy'd thou hast, sister, both thee and me, 
Thy people eke, and princes born of Tyre. 
Give here ; I shall with water wash her wounds ; 
And suck with mouth her breath, if ought be left.' 

This said, unto the high degrees she mounted, 
Embracing fast her sister now half dead, 
1 Calls. 2 Deceive. 



176 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 

With wailful plaint : whom in her lap she laid, 
The black swart gore wiping dry with her clothes. 
But Dido striveth to lift up again 
Her heavy eyen, and hath no power thereto : 
Deep in her breast that fixed wound doth gape. 
Thrice leaning on her elbow gan she raise 
Herself upward ; and thrice she overthrew 
Upon the bed : ranging with wand'ring eyes 
The skies for light, and wept when she it found. 

Almighty Juno having ruth by this 
Of her long pains, and eke her lingering death, 
From heaven she sent the Goddess Iris down, 
The throwing sprite, and jointed limbs to loose. 
For that neither by lot of destiny, 
Nor yet by kindly death she perished, 
But wretchedly before her fatal day, 
And kindled with a sudden rage of flame, 
Proserpine had not from her head bereft 
The golden hair, nor judged her to hell. 
The dewy Iris thus with golden wings, 
A thousand hues shewing against the Sun, 
Amid the skies then did she fly adown 
On Dido's head : where as she 'gan alight, 
' This hair,' quod she, ' to Pluto consecrate, 
Commanded I reave ; and thy spirit unloose 
From this body.' And when she thus had sai 
With her right hand she cut the hair in twain : 
And therewithal the kindly heat 'gan quench, 
And into wind the life forthwith resolve. 



The two following poems are given from a very curious MS. 
of the time of Henry the Vlllth, belonging to the Duke 
of Devonshire. The greater part of the poems in that 
MS. have the names, or the initials of their respective 
authors subscribed. The signatures originally affixed to 
those here printed have been much effaced. What re- 
mains of them, however, is sufficient to lead to some con- 
jecture. The first is subscribed "Finis q d . W t;" 
the second, " Finis q d . S e." Respecting the first 
of these names I apprehend no doubt can be entertained, 
especially as a large number of the poems in the volume 
bear Wyatt's signature. That the latter name was de- 
signed for Surrey's, I think extremely probable ; for his 
name was then generally spelt " Surrey e :" and the 
letter preceding the final " e," though erased in part, 
seems to have been " y." I believe that many composi- 
tions have been ascribed to authors on presumptive evi- 
dence less strong than the present, It should be observed, 
that Surrey and Wyatt were in the habit of frequently 
communicating their verses to each other. See the poems 
in this volume, which begin ; " As oft as I behold and 
see;" p. 37 : and iC Love that liveth and reigneth in my 
thought;" p. 12.— Dr. Nott. 



PRIMUS. 




Y fearful hope from me is fled, 
Which of long time hath been my guide. 
Now faithful trust is in his stead. 
And bids me set all fear aside. 
? truth it is, I not deny, 



178 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 

All lovers may not live in ease. 
Yet some by hap doth hit truly ; 
So like may I, if that she please. 

Why ! so it is a gift, ye wot, 
By nature one to love another. 
And since that love doth fall by lot ; 
Then why not I, as well as other. 

It may so be the cause is why, 
She knoweth no part to my poor mind : 
But yet as one assuredly 
I speak nothing but as I find. 

If Nature will, it shall so be : 
No reason ruleth Fantasy. 
Yet in this case, as seemeth me, 
I take all thing indifferently. 

Yet uncertain I will rejoice, 
And think to have, though yet thou hast. 
I put my chance unto her choice 
With patience, for power is past. 

No ! no ! I know the like is fair 
Without disdain or cruelty : 
And so to end, from all despair; 
Until I find the contrary. 



KA.RL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 170 




SECUNDUS. 

||OUR fearful hope cannot prevail ; 
Nor yet faithful trust also. 
Some thinks to hit, ofttimes do fail ; 
Whereby they change their wealth to 
woe. 

What though ! in that yet put no trust : 
But always after as ye see. 
For say your will, and do your lust ; 
There is no place for you to be. 

No such within ; ye are far out. 
Your labour lost ye hope to save. 
But once I put ye out of doubt ; 
The thing is had that ye would have. 

Though to remain without remorse, 
And pitiless to be opprest ; 
Yet is the course of Love, by force 
To take all things unto the best. 

Well ! yet beware, if thou be wise : 
And leave thy hope thy heat to cool : 
For fear lest she thy love despise, 
Reputing thee but as a fool. 

Since this to follow of force thou must, 
And by no reason can refrain ; 
Thy chance shall change thy least mistrust ; 
As thou shalt prove unto thy pain. 



180 EARL OF SURREY'S POEMS. 

When with such pain thou shalt be paid, 
The which shall pass all remedy ; 
Then think on this that I have said ; 
And blame thy foolish Fantasy. 



FINIS. 



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